


Quarantension

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Crack, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Grey-Asexual Castiel, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Quarantine, Roommates, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 129,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23362210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: In which Dean and Cas weather quarantine together like any Good Friends would — by developing outstanding skills in self-deception and providing all the casual affection and strictly platonic* orgasms the other could possibly need to make it through.***Really not platonic**Spoiler: They need a lot.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 968
Kudos: 550
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. the balcony incident

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Tumblr](https://questionableraccoon.tumblr.com/post/612884041860087808/but-wheres-the-college-roommates-au-where-dean) in response to the following prompt by the awesome [caslikescoffeeandfreckles](https://caslikescoffeeandfreckles.tumblr.com/):
> 
> _but where’s the college roommates au where dean and Cas get quarantined in their little apartment and Dean is the high-strung germaphobe convinced the world is ending while Cas is the stir crazy one ready to rip his hair out if he has to stay indoors for one more HOUR and now they’re driving each other insane because Dean doesn’t think Cas is taking it seriously enough while Cas thinks Dean is taking it too far and through all of this they have to figure out how to spend all their time together without accidentally revealing the enourmous crushes they have on each other_
> 
> Additional warning: This is borderline crack (maybe outright crack), but this is a quarantine fic and there are consistent references to Covid-19 and to some legitimate anxieties about it, so please take care of yourselves!
> 
> Additional warning #2: dubious consent of the waking-up-to-your-buddy's-morningwood variety, though it goes rather far. Details in the end notes and in the chapter which contains this scene.
> 
> Additional warning #3: These two do not practice safe sex; a lot of sub-conscious assumptions are being made, which are correct, but they do not discuss what they are doing in terms of safety or use condoms and this is a terrible example which the author does not condone.
> 
> Additional warning #4: There are references to past Cas/Others (Meg, Balthazar) and past Dean/Others (Cassie, some randoms)
> 
> Note about Cas's sexuality: Mentions of this are sprinkled throughout, and though Cas has realized he occupies a 'grey' area, he doesn't articulate it beyond that and it's indicated that trying to gives him a headache. His sexuality isn't really explored in-depth, so if that's what you're looking for, I apologize.
> 
> This is very, very trashy. If you've read other things by me, you may think you understand what I mean by trashy, but trust me, you don't. Proceed with caution and please be gentle when shaming me.
> 
> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine, I apologize for everything. Thank you for reading, and I hope you're all safe and well ♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Dean puts a box in the freezer to kill potential virus that might be on it, but as far as I know, this _will not work_. Just to be clear.

The sliding door opens with a near defiant-squeak as Cas lets himself out onto the tiny balcony, and Dean just manages not to flinch, fingers clammy in his rubber gloves as he shoves Cas’s stupid Amazon box of books in the freezer. (Doesn’t he _know_ how long this thing survives on cardboard? Dean wouldn’t touch it at all, except then Cas would have used his bare fucking hands to bring it into the apartment and let it sit there leaking germs into the air like there wasn’t a goddamn pandemic on.)

He carefully strips out of them at the sink, thoroughly scrubbing his hands once the gloves are in the trash, and by the time he’s gone back over them with some hand sanitizer, he grumpily concludes he’s as germ-free as he’s going to get.

(Books! That’s what the internet is for, damn it. What was Cas _thinking_?)

Irked, he goes to settle in on the sofa with some Netflix and just tries not to think about it.

He’s there all of five minutes before the door screeches again, Cas reappearing in the opening. Dean gives him a suspicious look, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I wanted a beer.”

“Drinking lowers your immune system,” Dean says automatically, and there’s a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m not in the risk group,” Cas mutters as he stalks to the fridge.

“As far as you _know._ And stay out of the freezer, okay?”

“I usually do,” Cas snarks, pulling open the fridge and snatching a beer out of the door. Dean purses his lips, opening his mouth just as Cas adds, “Besides, if I can survive _you_ , I can survive Covid.”

Cas is just being a dick because he’s tired of being inside, Dean tells himself. That’s all.

(Unless it’s really because he’s tired of being inside with _Dean,_ specifically.)

Still, Dean shuts his mouth and fixes his gaze on the TV. If Cas wants to chip away at all his own internal defenses with a completely unnecessary booze fix, it’s none of Dean’s business.

(Dean’s terrified, but he’ll look after Cas if he gets sick, anyway.)

There’s an awkward pause, Cas probably expecting a nasty retort, but then he starts back toward the door, cracking the top off his beer as he goes.

“Mm,” he hums. “Fresh air. Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Dean can’t help it. He bristles.

“Fuck off, Cas. Just because it ‘feels nice’ doesn’t mean it’s not gonna kill us.”

“It’s really not, Dean, but if melding with the sofa until next spring and masturbating with Purell makes you feel better-”

“ _Dude-_ ”

“Then I’m sure I’m happy to leave you to-”

There’s a loud, violent cough from outside, then, and they both freeze, the words dying on Cas’s lips.

He stares at Dean, stunned, and after a beat, they slowly look toward the doors.

Another cough.

“Shut the door, Jim, the heat’s running!” a woman yells.

“Sorry, sorry, I just-” Yet another deep cough. “Ugh. Just wanted some air.”

The curtain rustles a little in the breeze as they hear the neighbor’s door shut. Probably-Jim lets out a rough sigh, apparently still on his balcony, and it carries well.

Dean wonders what else carries well.

“Cas,” he finally mumbles, trying not to panic. Cas swallows, and Dean thinks his grip on his beer looks a little tight. “You’ve, uh. You’ve been out there by yourself, right?”

“Yeah,” Cas whispers, eyes flicking between Dean and the door. “But I’m sure it’s f-”

“Nope.” Dean clenches his fists, skin suddenly crawling. “Shut the door. You’re drinking inside.”

Cas purses his lips.

“Dean.”

“I’m not kidding, man. Door. Now.”

Blue eyes narrow, Cas’s shoulders tensing.

“We’ve been stuck in here for a goddamn week, Dean. I’ll wait until it’s all clear, if you’re _that_ worried Covid is going to Spiderman its way across balconies and into my lungs, but I’m still drinking this beer outside whether you like it or not.”

Dean just looks at him for a moment.

And then, calmly, he stands.

Cas flinches.

“Dean-”

Dean shakes his head, reaching for a fresh pair of gloves, and Cas huffs as he pulls them on.

“You’re insane. You realize that, right?”

“And you’re gonna get us both killed, assuming we don’t starve to death or get shot by toilet paper thieves before the month is out.”

“We’re not going to-”

Dean carefully steps around him to shut the door, and Cas’s brows lift.

“Are you _kidding_ me right n-”

“Go wash your hands, Cas.”

Cas breathes in deeply, murder in his eyes.

“No.”

“Cas.”

“I mean it. You’re being ridiculous. And it’s only been a _week._ You need to calm down, Dean, or we’re not going to be able to do this.”

“And you need to wash your goddamn hands and fucking take this _seriously_ instead of half-assing all the recommended precautions because you can’t sit tight for five seconds when your _life_ is at stake!”

“ _My life is not at stake_!” Cas snaps. “As long as I’m not outside infecting people-”

“So it’s okay if you’re just inside, infecting _me-”_

“Shut _up,_ Dean!” he nearly shouts. “I just – five minutes! Five minutes to drink my beer and remember what _sunlight_ feels like! That’s all I wanted!”

There’s a little flicker of guilt, at that – Dean knows it’s hard on Cas, being cooped up like this – but Dean’s just trying to make sure they both get through this as intact as possible.

“Cas,” he starts, a little softer, but another muffled cough through the glass stops him short. He swallows. “Please. Just - go wash your hands.”

Cas’s gaze hardens.

“No. There’s nothing on them.”

“Probably not, but just in case-”

“There _isn’t._ ”

“ _Cas._ ”

Cas shakes his head, bringing the bottle to his lips, and Dean’s pretty sure it’s deliberate, the way his thumb rests right against the top, dangerously close to his mouth as he drinks.

“ _Dude,_ ” he chokes out, vaguely hysterical, but Cas keeps chugging, one eye on Dean the whole time. If Dean weren’t so freaked out, he’d probably be turned on. “What the _hell_?”

The bottle’s half-empty by the time Cas pulls off, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table with a _thunk._

“I appreciate that you’re frightened, Dean,” he says evenly (and fine, maybe Dean’s still a little turned on, even if he’s mostly pissed). “But if you want me to wash my hands for no apparent reason? You’re going to have to make me.”

Dean just stares, blood rushing in his ears. He likes Cas – might even be a little bit in love with him – but really? This is it? This is the hill he’s going to die on?

Cas simply crosses his arms and stares right back, and that’s a firm _yes_ if Dean ever saw one.

“Fine,” he says eventually, breathing in deep. He nods. “Have it your way, then.”

For a moment, Cas looks triumphant.

But then Dean raises his hands, tugging the wrists of his gloves a little higher, and Cas’s expression falters.

“No,” he protests, stunned.

“Yeah,” Dean counters, snatching the painter’s mask off the end table. Cas watches in disbelief as he pulls it on, carefully adjusting the back.

For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something, but nothing ever comes.

“Last chance,” Dean offers. Cas’s brow creases.

Then he lifts his chin.

“No. Do what you have to, Dean.”

Dean nods grimly.

He intends to.


	2. the hand-washing incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: dubiously consensual hand-washing (Dean is technically forcing Cas to wash his hands here, and while Cas could fight him off if he tried, he shouldn't have to. While this is a fictional event played for comedy, physically forcing people to do things in real life is a pretty big no-no), masturbation, self-fingering (Cas), bottom Cas in fantasy, let me know if I missed anything.

Had you told Cas twenty-four hours ago that today would find him bent over a hard kitchen surface and pinned in place by his incredibly attractive roommate’s body, hands caught in said roommate’s unyielding grasp as the other man firmly subjected him to some rather vigorous attentions, he wouldn’t have believed you.

(Though he would have taken an incredibly thorough shower this afternoon, just in case.)

And _yet_ -

“Stop _struggling,_ ” Dean grits out, warm weight pressing him harder into the sink, and Cas frantically tries to remember this is a gross violation of his sensible-person autonomy and not, in any way, intended as foreplay.

“Stop being _ridiculous,_ ” Cas retorts, hoping the breathlessness comes off as anger. As it is, he’s probably not struggling as much as he should be, distracted by the sensation of Dean’s hips against his ass and Dean’s broad – albeit gloved - hands slip-sliding all over his own, wet and soapy as they forcibly guide them through the washing.

It’s probably a good thing Dean’s unnecessary paranoia has resulted in him wearing a mask, Cas concedes. He’s not sure he could have handled Dean breathing hot in his ear through all of this, not without tipping his head back and outright begging to be kissed. As it _is_ , one of the worst parts of quarantine is being stuck in this goddamn apartment with Dean at all hours of the day and night, sleep his only reprieve, with little to distract himself from the fact that _actually,_ he would really, really like to be kissed.

(Not begging to be kissed is difficult enough when they’re _not_ in quarantine.)

Cas settles for aggressively pushing back against him, under the guise of trying to escape.

He’s not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that Dean’s not hard.

“God _damn_ it, Cas, we would have been done a full fucking minute ago if you’d just _cooperate_ -”

“You have no business forcing me to-” Cas tries, but Dean apparently disagrees, because in the next moment, there’s a damp, soapy arm circling Cas’s waist, hauling him further back from the sink as Dean uses his weight to press Cas into the edge, arms extended helplessly over the bowl.

“Wash,” Dean snaps in his ear, breaths harsh through the mask. “Or you’re not going _anywhere,_ let alone outside.”

Dean is a hot, heavy weight along Cas’s entire body, at this point, hugging him close and holding him still, and Cas -

Cas is speechless.

“Cas,” Dean says, warning, and after a dazed beat, Cas slowly starts moving his hands.

Dean can’t _possibly_ be this oblivious – can he?

Cas gives an experimental wiggle, though it’s difficult, and Dean grunts, so Cas does it again, hopeful-

“Don’t bother,” Dean mutters, clearly misunderstanding. His free arm is stretched alongside one of Cas’s, hand wrapped tight around the wrist. “Just recite the Star Trek intro in your head and then we can both go, okay?”

Cas is, in fact, perfectly happy to stay here as long as Dean would like, so long as he’s given a _different_ reason to recite the Star Trek intro in his head (a reason like needing to distract himself from coming too soon).

Alas, Dean is _still_ not hard, and worse still, Cas kind of _is_.

And because Cas is a terrible person and this is the closest Dean will probably ever get to him no matter how long they stay roommates, he takes his sweet time washing his hands, anyway.

The Star Trek intro is the last thing on his mind while he does so.

“Alright, that should be good,” Dean mumbles, shifting a little behind Cas, and Cas bites back a whimper as he pushes forward, sliding up Cas just enough to turn on the tap. “Rinse.”

Cas is a little afraid to move, at this point.

Dean sighs, hand returning to Cas’s wrist before he jerks it under the water, and Cas hisses.

Dean’s grip tightens, quickly guiding his hand back out.

“Shit, too hot?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” Cas says hastily. “Don’t stop.”

Dean stills, and there’s a long, uncomfortable silence behind Cas.

Cas closes his eyes.

“Well?” he adds, trying his best to sound annoyed. “Are we going to get this over with or not, Dean?”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dean agrees after another pause, and then abruptly, he lets go, stepping back and leaving Cas cold. “Actually – you know – uh. The important part’s done, so – yeah. ‘S’all you, man.”

“Thank you,” Cas snaps, disappointment suffusing him. He quickly straightens, angling away from Dean a little more, and winces when he brushes up against the edge of the sink in the process.

“Right. I’ll just – gonna go wash my hands, too. In the bathroom. While you, uh, finish.”

Ha. Cas _wishes._

“You do that,” he mutters, as grumpily as he can manage, and aggressively starts turning his hands beneath the water, heart still racing in his chest.

Hopefully, any untoward blushing just looks like fury.

Anyway, the point is moot; without another word, Dean takes off to the bathroom, no doubt ready to fill the tub with some unholy concoction of antibacterial soap and Purell and blistering hot water, all the better to rid himself of Cas’s deadly could-be-Covid germs.

Of course, Cas is too frustrated and turned on to be _offended_ ; the instant the bathroom door shuts, he turns off the water and haphazardly pats his hands down with a towel. Then he flees to his room, slamming the door shut behind him and flipping the bolt before he scrambles out of his pants and onto his bed, where he immediately fumbles the bottle of lube out from beneath the spare pillow (sue him; he’s in quarantine – with _Dean._ There’s not a lot of point in actually putting it _away_ ).

Exactly three minutes later, two fingers thrusting erratically into himself and his no-longer-clean left hand clumsily stripping his cock, he comes.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he shouts to his empty room, trembling through the aftershocks.

Having a crush on your roommate is the _worst._

Having a crush on your roommate is the _worst,_ Dean thinks, stifling his moans into his palm as he desperately thrusts into his other hand (which is coated with lube from a carefully hidden bottle under the sink and _not_ Purell, thank you very much. Which! Cas would know how drying hand sanitizer was if the reckless little fucker was actually _using_ any).

Still, his ire does nothing to stop the images of Cas, naked and desperate underneath him, that flood his brain.

 _Don’t stop,_ fantasy-Cas says, except it comes out as a breathless moan instead of the impatient demand to hurry-up-with-your-nonsense-Dean that it actually was.

Really, Dean’s just lucky it took him _that_ long to realize what he’d done there, Cas bent over and pinned, straining beneath Dean’s body, their hands tangled over the sink . . .

“Oh, God,” he gasps, hand shaking too hard to be much use in muffling the sound. He’s usually pretty good about keeping Cas out of mind when he does this – fine, he’s usually pretty good at not masturbating when Cas is home – but the sensation of Cas’s warm body shoving back against his is unbearably fresh in his mind, and Dean’s just relieved he made it out of the kitchen before his body caught up and wanted him to do something about it.

“ _Fuck,”_ he hears Cas yell, and even though he knows Cas probably just knocked something over in a rage over Dean’s (completely justified) dramatics, the sound travels right through his bones. Dean can’t help himself, pushing into his slick fist with a choked-off moan and pretending it’s Cas, hot and tight around his cock while Cas comes apart underneath him-

“ _Cas_ ,” he moans, and helplessly spills all over his fingers, utterly wrecked in the aftermath.

Because the truth is, Dean pretty much always thinks about Cas when he jerks off, and the only reason Cas hasn’t caught on to this gross, perverted nonsense is because Dean _does_ _n’t_ do it while they’re both at home.

Except now they’re in quarantine together, and quarantine means they’re _always_ both at home.

Pandemic suddenly feels like the least of his worries.

Cas guiltily cleans himself up afterward, ashamed of his weakness.

(He swears he even imagined Dean calling his name right after he came, which – Cas tries not to think about Dean that way, if he can help it. And even if it was technically Dean’s own fault this time, given that he got Cas more worked up than any _actual_ sexual encounters tend to do, he didn’t mean to, and Cas getting off to fantasies of how he _wished_ Dean’s ridiculous hand-washing stunt had concluded is a terrible violation of roommate code. Cas feels like the worst person ever.)

But - so _what_ if he got off to some extremely intense dubiously-consensual hand-washing? He’s young, and half-in-love with his incredibly handsome friend-slash-roommate, at that; it was a perfectly normal response to have, he decides, and now that it’s taken care of, he can forget about it and go back to slowly going insane from being cooped up in his didn’t-seem-that-cramped-before two-bedroom apartment.

(With his incredibly handsome friend-slash-roommate.)

Dean awkwardly apologizes for being ‘pushy,’ later, and seems to be having so much difficulty meeting Cas’s eyes that Cas is briefly terrified he _knows_ – but then his suspiciously averted gaze lands on Cas’s laptop screen, where Amazon is pulled up, and he launches into a hysterical ten-minute lecture about limiting contact from the outside world and Cas forgets why he was ever turned on by this person in the first place.

And when he finds the goddamn _books_ he ordered in the _freezer,_ of all places, like some sort of cushy Covid preservation chamber-

Well, he feels a lot less bad about getting an orgasm out of Dean’s pandemic bullshit, is all he’s saying.


	3. interlude #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none that I can think of, please let me know if I'm wrong.

Gabriel Skypes before Cas goes to bed, and while he’s at a point where a part of him is looking forward to talking to his brother, for once, he quickly changes his mind.

“Soooo, what’s up?”

Cas frowns.

“You already asked me that when you got on.”

“Yeah, but that was a casual, ‘hey, what’s up?’. This is a ‘why are you acting like you’ve got a dead body in your kitchen and I’m the cop that just knocked on your door to see if everything was okay because the next-door neighbor heard some funny noises, what’s up?’”

Cas scowls.

“Issues with Dean.”

Gabe lifts a brow.

“Issues with Deano,” he muses, and Cas tenses. “In-ter-est-ing.”

“Gabe.”

He leans back, steepling his fingers, and Cas sighs loudly.

“Now, if it were anyone else but my sweet, unbelievably uptight baby brother,” Gabe continues. “I’d say you guys fucked. Probably within forty-eight hours of confinement. But since it _is_ you …” He laughs, somewhat menacingly, in Cas’s opinion. “Anyway, I don’t think you’d be so weird about it if _that’s_ what had happened.”

Cas can’t argue with that. If he and Dean _had_ somehow devolved into rampant, unbridled fornication all over the apartment, Cas would certainly not be feeling guilty and awkward.

There’s also not a chance in hell he’d be picking up _phone calls._ What if he missed another opportunity? Obviously, said fornication would be a result of stressful circumstances and the odds of it continuing past quarantine would be small.

He’d hardly be willing to waste precious time.

“I’m not uptight,” is all he says. “Just because I don’t _broadcast_ my adventures doesn’t mean I’m uptight.”

“Fair, but you’re totally uptight, Cassie. At least since you moved in with Deano.”

“Gabe. I’ve been living with Dean for almost two years.”

“ _Exactly._ And you’ve been waiting for him to – uh. ‘Up-loose’ you for just as long.”

Cas draws back from the screen.

“That’s not a word. And I have not. Dean and I are just friends. It’s why we moved out of the dorms together.”

“Mm.” Gabe cocks his head. “And yet you still haven’t told me why you’re being weird.”

Cas flushes.

“There was … an incident.”

“Mhm.”

Cas makes a face.

“Dean is … struggling. With the pandemic stress. He’s behaving oddly.”

“By which you mean …?”

Cas hesitates.

Gabe will likely never let him live it down, but – a part of him wants to check with someone else, just to be sure he’s not crazy.

The hand-washing incident couldn’t possibly have been acceptable or normal, right? It was crossing a line, wasn’t it?

Dean should have _realized,_ shouldn’t he have?

Or is Cas as uptight and sexually frustrated as his brother always accuses him of, enough that he’s experiencing a vast overreaction to something _annoying,_ but otherwise perfectly unexceptional?

“I was taking some air on the balcony. Something people are doing all over the world, mind you,” Cas adds. “Dean, of course, thinks we should do everything short of vacuum-seal ourselves in our beds, and he felt like I needed to wash my hands when I came back inside.”

He omits the part about the coughing neighbor, because it adds zero justification to Dean’s panic and is thus irrelevant to this retelling (even if it did make Cas realize just how close the little balconies are to one another).

Gabe snorts.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Guy’s a germaphobe even when the plague isn’t happening.”

“It’s not a plague, Gabriel.”

Gabe waves a hand.

“Okay, go on? So he nagged you into washing your hands, and then …”

Cas gulps.

“I … refused.”

Gabe blinks.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t think there was a need.”

“I mean, maybe not, but it doesn’t hurt. It takes thirty seconds, Cas, and it’s better than Winchester riding your ass over it.”

Cas drops his gaze, cheeks heating.

There’s a long silence.

“Um? What is _that_ face, Cassie?” Gabe finally asks, sounding delighted. “I thought you said you guys didn’t-”

“We _didn’t._ He just, um. He made me wash my hands.”

“But you said you refused.”

“I did, but – he _made_ me, Gabriel.”

“Sorry?”

Cas grits his teeth, suddenly more embarrassed than interested in having this injustice confirmed.

“He bent me over the sink and basically washed them for me,” Cas snaps, and Gabe’s mouth falls open. “So to answer your original question, _that_ is why I’m being weird, and also, _you_ would be weird, too.”

“Um, no, Cassie, I’d be angry, and also I would have thrown him off before it got that weird.”

“It’s not that easy,” Cas protests. “Dean - he’s very strong.”

Gabe smirks.

“Probably not as strong as you.”

Cas coughs.

“I was caught off-guard. And then I – I didn’t have good leverage.”

“I’ll bet you didn’t,” Gabe cackles.

“ _Gabe._ ”

“What? C’mon, Cassie, that sounds like the stuff of fantasy.”

“Well, it isn’t.” It wasn’t _before_ this, anyway. “What it _was_ was incredibly awkward, especially since Dean didn’t seem to think it was awkward at all.”

Gabe is silent for a moment, contemplative, and then his expression softens.

“Aw, Cassie. Are your feelings hurt that he didn’t pop a boner for you?”

Cas presses his lips together, lifting his chin.

“ _Anyway –_ he apologized for being pushy, but – you agree, right? That wasn’t – he had to have been able to tell that was – I mean – who _does_ that? To their roommate, no less. Their – their _friend._ ”

“Somebody who sub-consciously wants to fuck their friend, probably.”

 _If only,_ Cas thinks.

“Trust me, that’s the last thing on Dean’s mind,” he mutters. Truthfully, he’s been open to the idea of rampant, unbridled fornication all over the apartment since before they moved into it, and he doesn’t deceive himself that that openness isn’t obvious. “He’s just - stressed. But things like that – they’re unacceptable. There are lines, and that – that was crossing them.”

“Right,” Gabe agrees, eyes bright with humor. Cas ignores it.

“So I think I need to speak with him, and just – honestly explain that there are boundaries – _physical_ boundaries, especially – that he needs to respect, no matter how anxious he’s feeling.”

His brother considers this for a moment.

“ _Or_ you could get back at him with a prank.”

Of course. Cas wonders why he bothered asking.

“No, no, hear me out! Your boyfriend is _incredibly_ thick-skulled, and even _normal_ people don’t always understand words. You’ve gotta get him to empathize! What better way to do that than crossing one of _his_ boundaries, and then using it as a talking point?”

Cas frowns.

It’s actually not the worst thing Gabe’s ever suggested, but …

“That seems …”

“Brilliant? Devastatingly insightful? Like thought-fruit from the brain-loins of a cohabitative masterrmind?”

“Ethically suspect,” Cas says firmly.

“Oh. Well, it’s not like it’d be as bad as mime-fucking you over the sink-”

“As _what-_ ”

“-you just have to make him uncomfortable for a second, and then you can immediately let him know you’re joking. Seriously, just something harmless to remind him that it takes two to domestically harmonize. Or three or four or however many assholes are crammed into a place.”

Cas considers this for a moment.

Especially if it’s a _smaller_ boundary, and Cas backtracks right away … just to teach him a very tiny, non-traumatic lesson …

“Perhaps.”

“Or you could offer to just let him fuck out all that anxie-”

Cas hangs up.

“I think I might have Covid,” he announces the next day, and tries not to feel smug when Dean emits a shrill, wheezing sound before leaping to his feet and quickly circling to the other side of the coffee table.

“ _What?_ How? From where? From _who_? Do you need to go to the hos-”

“From the Amazon box, most likely,” Cas muses, tapping the cover. “If only it had been left to sit, so the virus could die.”

Dean swallows.

“But that’s why I-”

Cas shuts the book entirely, raising his brows.

“Put my books in the freezer? I’d think someone as cautious and well-informed as yourself would have known that wouldn’t kill it.”

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“How the fuck else do you kill it? Setting shit on fire or freezing it _always_ works.”

Cas shifts, spreading out a little - just getting more comfortable on the sofa – and Dean twitches further away.

“Well, burning it probably does work,” Cas admits.”Below freezing, on the other hand … I believe the word is ‘dormant.’”

Dean looks crestfallen, and a little afraid – enough that Cas’s sense of vindication falters.

“Shit,” Dean whispers, swallowing. He runs a hand through his hair, green eyes wide. “Shit, shit, sh-”

“I wore gloves,” Cas interrupts gently.

Dean’s head snaps up.

“What?” he asks, a little higher than usual.

“To take the box out and open it.”

Dean hesitates.

“But - did you use the same ones to get your books out?”

Cas gives him a look.

“No. I sanitized and then gingerly plucked my books from the jaws of disease with my bare, sterile hands. Although I sincerely doubt the box was covered in Covid.”

Dean looks to the side, expression pinched as he considers something.

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “Alright, fine. So long as you didn’t overnight them to yourself, you probably don’t have it.”

It takes effort for Cas not to roll his eyes.

Especially when it takes a full thirty seconds of staring uneasily at the sofa before Dean slowly comes back around to sit on the other side of it.

Cas _almost_ makes a remark about how close Dean was willing to get to him yesterday, when he thought he might actually be contaminated, but then he remembers what he got off to thinking about right afterward (fine, and this morning, while Dean was taking one of his what-feels-like-thrice-daily showers), and he decides it’s better to just … pretend it didn’t happen.

He shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, skin suddenly feeling a little hot.

“That was a dick move, Cas,” Dean mutters after a tense moment, and Cas frowns.

“Excuse me?”

“ _That._ The – the thing you just did. It wasn’t funny. This thing is serious, man, and you nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack. Which – if one of us _does_ go to the hospital, we’re bound to catch it.”

“You’re twenty-two, Dean. You’re not going to have a heart attack because you think I may have contracted a virus that will almost certainly not be serious for either one of us, let alone _fatal._ And I’m glad you brought up ‘dick moves’,” he adds, air-quoting, unconcerned for his previous resolution, “Given the things you did to me last night. _”_

Dean’s frustration falters.

“Uh.” His brow creases, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. Okay, yes, but – could you not – when you say it like that-”

“It sounds worse than it is?” Cas finishes for him, dry. “That’s not really possible.”

“Right. Yeah. Uh … I’m sorry about that. Really.”

“Yes, well, you should be. If you think _sitting_ next to me on the sofa when I might be sick was uncomfortable, think about how you’d feel if I’d pushed you down and crawled on top of you and started _touching_ you,” Cas says pointedly. “Whether I was sick or not. Which I’m not.”

It is an excellently argued point, apparently; Dean stares at him in wide-eyed silence for a long, shocked moment. Then he clears his throat and looks away, tugging a pillow onto his lap, obviously feeling awkward enough to need something to fidget with.

Cas sits back, satisfied.

“Well, the hand-washing incident had exactly the same effect on me, Dean.”

Dean swallows.

“I really don’t think it did,” he mumbles, and Cas bristles.

“Just because I’m not afraid of the virus doesn’t mean I’m not still stressed. You were being extremely inconsiderate.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right. I was. I, uh. I won’t do it again.”

Which is not disappointing at all, because even if a very small, inappropriate part of Cas really enjoyed Dean’s lack of consideration - so much so that his stupid brain decides to play imagine-if with the memory at least once an hour - it can’t happen again.

Because while Cas can and has imagined Dean stripping off the gloves and tugging down Cas’s pants and all the wildly fun things that might have followed, Cas has also imagined Dean’s horror at discovering just how much Cas _was_ enjoying that.

He’s spent two years hiding his crush on Dean; they’re friends more than roommates, at this point, and he couldn’t bear it if Dean found out now.

“Good,” he says, as convincingly as he can, though Dean’s still not looking him, and Cas suspects he’s too busy feeling scolded to pay much attention. “In that case – truce?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sounds good,” Dean says distractedly, gaze still fixed straight ahead, in the direction of the blank TV.

“Alright.” Cas hesitates, glancing at the remote on the end table next to him. “Do you want that turned on?”

Dean’s head snaps toward him.

“W-what?”

“The television,” Cas says slowly. “So you can watch it.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. “N-no, actually, I, uh. I forgot that I needed to – to Skype Sammy. He’s, uh, he’s gotta be driving his roommates up the wall, cooped up like that.”

Cas can’t resist.

“Ah, so it runs in the family.”

Dean freezes partway to standing, though he’s still clutching the throw pillow.

“Huh?”

“I was making a joke. About you, driving me up the wall,” Cas clarifies, when Dean still looks blank. Dean’s grip on the pillow tightens.

“Oh. Ha, that – yeah, I – I bet I am. Anyway. Okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

Cas is a little perplexed by the lack of sarcastic retort, and downright disturbed by the stuttering.

Perhaps Dean’s anxiety is taking more of a toll than Cas thought.

In fact, Dean is evidently _so_ distracted-

He carries the throw pillow with him all the way to his bedroom.

“Sammy, _help._ ”

Sam blinks.

“Hi, Dean. I’m good, thanks, how are you?”

“ _Awful,_ ” Dean says immediately. “Cas isn’t taking the pandemic or the quarantine seriously _at all,_ and if that’s not bad enough – the guy is trying to _torture_ me, Sammy.”

“Um. How so? And - to be fair, Dean, while there are a lot of people being negligent, you do tend to be, um … more sensitive, about these things.”

Dean’s not sure how being scrupulous in your precautions over something that is going to _kill people_ makes you hypersensitive, but he’s not going to waste his breath arguing about it. After being stuck inside with Cas for the last four days, he’s a little burned out on that.

“I’m really not, but that’s not the point. The point is, he – he keeps _doing_ stuff, and saying stuff, and neither of us can go anywhere so he’s just – he’s _there,_ all the time, and it’s – it’s driving me crazy, Sam.”

And if he keeps jerking off this much, Cas is bound to hear something he shouldn’t.

Dean swallows.

 _T_ _hink about how you’d feel if I’d pushed you down and crawled on top of you and started_ touching _you._

Dean thought about it, alright. Thought about Cas’s powerful runner’s thighs settling on either side of his waist, those gorgeous, graceful hands slowly making their way up Dean’s chest, his neck, caressing his jaw while endless blue eyes stared heatedly into his soul, Cas’s hips subtly rocking all the while in a tantalizing promise of what was to come-

“Dean?”

Dean licks his lips. He _just_ took care of this. How the fuck is he already getting worked up again?

He throws a guilty look at the throw pillow, an unwitting victim in all of it.

“Hey, uh, how do you wash one of those decorative sofa pillows?”

Sam makes a face.

“Um. See if you can take off the cover and throw it in the wash, and also, do I want to know?”

Dean looks away, sheepish.

“Uh. No. No, I – I don’t think you do.”

His brother sighs.

“Right. Anyway, I asked you a question. How’s he driving you crazy? I mean, you guys usually get along great.”

It’s a fair question, and Dean _tries_ to think of a way to talk about the hand-washing incident so it sounds less like his own damn fault, but it’s difficult.

“Well, for starters, a - a thing happened, and I happened to be, uh, on top of him, and he wouldn’t quit squirming, and it was really sexy and I accidentally got a boner and-”

“Wait, why were you on top of him?”

Dean hesitates.

“Because I was making him wash his hands,” he says in a rush. “Anyway, that’s not important, the important thing is that I don’t know how much longer I can do this! Because it’s not just that, Sam, he’s also – he’s being all intense and bitchy and hot and saying shit like ‘you driving me up the wall’-” Dean lowers his voice in imitation, though he can’t really do justice to Cas’s deep, rough timbre, especially when it says things like _that,_ “And ‘think about me touching you, Dean’ and – and do you _see?_ ”

Sam lifts his brows.

“Um, not really. I feel like you’re either oversharing or I’m missing some context.”

Dean huffs.

“I thought you were supposed to be _smart._ ”

Sam leans forward, his unimpressed face filling the screen with palpable judgment.

“Dean. If Cas is bothering you – have you tried maybe _talking_ to him about it?”

“What? No! _Hell_ no!”

“I know you hate talking, but – come on, man. You guys are going to be stuck together for at _least_ another week-and-a-half. If you’ve got problems – you need to clear them up sooner, rather than later.”

Which sounds reasonable enough, except this problem is one he’s already spent two years trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

“There’s no ‘clearing them up,’ Sam. Telling your roommate he’s so fucking sexy you’re not sure you can _survive_ another week of looking at his stupid handsome face and his stupid godlike body without literally driving him up the wall _with_ _your dick_ isn’t ‘clearing things up;’ it’s called _harassment,_ and Cas deserves better.”

Sam grimaces.

“Well, no, don’t say _that._ Also? Ew.”

“You think I’m being gross now? Wait a week. Cas’ll probably hop balconies to get away from me and then he’ll get Covid from Neighbor Jim and get sent to the hospital for weeks until he slowly wastes away to nothing and it’ll be all my fucking fault because I couldn’t keep it in my goddamn pants.”

“Wow.”

“ _Right_?”

Sam shakes his head.

“I’m not even going to try and unpack that. Just – you said he’s not taking things seriously, right?”

“Right,” Dean agrees, scowling.

“Well, maybe that’s because you’re taking things _too_ seriously? He could sub-consciously be pulling in the other direction, just to – strike a balance, I guess.”

“Uh. I guess.”

“And it sounds like you physically _forced_ him to wash his hands?”

“It – it sounds really bad when you say it like that, but Jim was coughing and Cas was practically _daring_ me with that beer and-”

“And it sounds like _maybe,_ Cas is just – _reacting._ So … if you don’t feel like you can talk through it, why don’t you try calming down? Maybe biting your tongue, even if you think he’s being a little irresponsible? The reality is, neither of you are going anywhere. Sure, there might still be some risks, but the important thing is that you’re not out infecting people who can’t handle catching this. I don’t think it’ll hurt you to dial it down.”

Dean hesitates.

“I – I guess. But – it’s not like risk averages out, Sammy. You either get it or you don’t, even if the odds were close to nothing. And since you can’t _know_ if you did, unless you get sick – you’re flying blind.”

“Sure, but – so is everyone else. Even if you stay perfectly isolated for two weeks – as soon as you go out, you risk getting exposed to it. Which – yeah, you’ll need groceries and stuff, but I don’t see things changing anytime soon. You and Cas are pretty much stuck with each other, for God knows how long. You’ve gotta figure _something_ out.”

Dean swallows, trying to think of months more of this, Cas practically within arms’ reach all day, every day.

“Cas is gonna end up going to live with his brother, isn’t he?”

Sam sighs, then mutters:

“So long as he’s the _only_ one.”

Dean decides not to dignify that with a response.


	4. the POP pilates incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: references to masturbation, references to fingering and bottom!cas, depictions of exercise, light references to body insecurity, let me know if I forgot anything.
> 
> [POP Pilates](https://www.youtube.com/user/blogilates) and the [Insane Butt Blaster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eFn13DPhS4) video are real! In these times of quarantine, POP Pilates is another free method of suffering to consider if you're trying to figure out an exercise routine.
> 
> This is the last already-written installment, but it should update fairly frequently. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you're all doing okay out there ♡

Two days pass.

Despite his nonchalance in front of Dean, Cas carefully checks the news each morning, just to keep an eye on things, and while he maintains that Dean’s antics are ridiculous for two people diligently staying-the-fuck-home, he can’t deny that he’s getting worried. They’ll likely be self-isolating for much longer than two or three weeks.

Which is awful for many reasons, but Cas does not believe in panic, so for now, the only thing he’s allowing himself to worry about is the fact that his preparations for quarantine naturally precluded stocking up on personal lubricant.

He was running low _before_ all this started; after a week – especially one that included the last few days – he’s found himself in dire straits.

Of course, it should be a simple matter of just ordering more off the internet, but Dean got _so_ upset about Cas’s stupid book box and the prospect of more contaminated materials entering their sacred fortress, Cas can’t help it. The moment he moves his cursor over the Place Order button, Dean’s wide, panic-stricken green eyes pop into his brain and ultimately, Cas decides it’s just … not worth the lecture.

Anyway, Cas is sitting on the sofa, trying not to worry about running out of lube or being stuck in the apartment with Dean for a year or even just what feels like the inevitable psychological breakdown they both seem to be heading for, when Dean clears his throat.

“Hey - you okay?” he asks, and since it sounds like a normal, friendly question and not an accusation of disease, Cas appreciates his concern.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean nods, though he keeps looking at him, and Cas adds Dean’s reticence to get close to or touch him to his complaints about quarantine. Logically, he knows it would make things more difficult – the hand-washing incident certainly proved that – but in truth, he’s very conscious of the absence.

Three weeks ago, Dean would have scooted closer, would have nudged him with his shoulder and turned to face him, might even have thrown a casual arm across the sofa back. But even in the apartment, Dean seems to be trying to adhere to social distancing measures (provided Cas isn’t refusing to wash his hands), and he’s sitting a disheartening several feet away.

“You sure? Can I, uh. Can I help with anything? I know I’ve been kind of – you know, a little high-strung, lately, but – if you need anything, I’m … I’m here.”

Cas briefly entertains the idea of asking if _Dean_ is well-stocked on lubricant, at least enough to spot him a little, but the amusing mental image of Dean’s face in response to Cas deadpanning a request for _lube_ quickly morphs into oneof Dean asking what Cas might be willing to give him in return, which quickly devolves into thoughts that he really, really should not be having while Dean is staring at him expectantly and just trying to be a good, generous, utterly platonic friend in Cas’s time of need and oh, _right,_ Cas should answer.

“No,” he croaks. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Dean hesitates. “I know – I’m probably not the first person you’d pick to be stuck with, I’m kind of-” He waves a hand. “But since we _are_ – just, you’ve seemed a little on edge the last few days. And I know I’m probably the one causing it, but – if there’s any way I can, I don’t know, help take the edge off or something, just let me know. Okay?”

Cas blinks, mouth dry.

“Take the edge off,” he repeats, and Dean starts nodding before he abruptly freezes, paling a little.

“I – I mean – like a marathon of those dumb mysteries you like, or some of that POP Pilates crap you do over Skype sessions with your sister, I wasn’t – I didn’t mean it _weird_.”

 _More’s the pity_ , Cas thinks, suppressing a sigh.

Although …

“You’d do POP Pilates with me?”

Dean hesitates, then shrugs.

“Yeah? If it’d make you feel better.”

“Even the ‘booty’ workouts?”

Dean just stares at him for a moment, and then he lets out a long breath.

“Yeah, Cas. Even the booty workouts.”

Cas nods calmly, barely managing to conceal his glee.

Dean has a spectacular ‘booty,’ despite zero targeted effort towards maintaining it (at least as far as Cas can tell).

And even though he knows he’s taking advantage, not to mention damning what little remains in his sad, tiny bottle of lube-

He can’t _wait_ to see it in action.

“Alright, then,” he says, neutral. “How about some insane butt blasting?”

“Fuck – fuck, Cas – I can’t- I’m gonna-”

“No – just a little longer, Dean – come on,” Cas pants, and Dean shuts his eyes, letting his head drop with a groan.

“Oh, God.”

“Yes - keep going, keep going – so close, Dean, we’re so close, we’re almost there-”

And that, Dean thinks, lungs heaving, muscles shaking with the effort of every tight, circular motion, is a huge fucking _lie_.

No, he’s pretty sure his legs are going to permanently give out _long_ before the horrible demon woman on Cas’s laptop screen stops her cheerful monologue and releases them from this torment. It’s not even cheerful in a bland, perky NPC kind of way; it’s cheerful in a way that says she knows _exactly_ what kind of suffering she’s inflicting on her masochistic followers and she’s nothing but satisfied because of it.

“She’s _S_ _atan,_ ” he gasps out when she finally has mercy, collapsing onto his mat – which, who the fuck owns two yoga mats? Dean assumes most people don’t even really use the _one._ It’s just a thing you buy out of optimism, right?

Apparently not.

Cas settles much more gracefully onto his own mat, though he _is_ at least breathing hard, which reassures Dean that he’s not completely out of shape.

“I’m sure she’d be flattered. A moment ago, she was a mere ‘demon from hell.’”

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment. Now that he’s not busy staring at the floor in blistering agony – now that he’s lying on his stomach, largely paralyzed, head turned toward Cas – he can appreciate the long, lean line of good bones and solid muscle Cas makes, all packed into a loose tank and some _incredibly_ tight shorts.

Which, today’s the first time Dean’s seeing them – or one pair of them, because when Dean weakly asked about it, Cas informed him that actually, he has several. In fact, he has enough that he offered to loan _Dean_ a pair, and Dean is positive it’s his imagination that Cas looked disappointed when he said ‘no.’

Nobody wants to see Dean’s ass and muffin-top in yoga shorts, right?

He pats his sides self-consciously at the thought.

“Should call it a pie-top,” he mutters. “That’s where it comes from.”

Cas looks baffled lying across from him, cheek smushed endearingly against the mat.

“What are you talking about?”

Dean pinches his side again.

“You know. The dessert roll.”

Cas blinks, then frowns like Dean’s just spewed an explicit monologue featuring Mrs. Novak.

“Don’t say that.”

“Huh?”

Cas braces his palms against the mat, struggling up onto his knees so he can look down at Dean, troubled.

“You have a very nice body, Dean.”

If Dean had any hope of graduating from ‘collapsed pile on the floor,’ that pretty much does away with it.

“Not really,” he tries, craning his neck a little. Cas clenches his fists in his lap.

“Yes, really.”

“Dude, it’s not. Come on, you’re the one who made me ass-blast or whatever.”

Cas gives him an unimpressed look.

“I refuse to help you sit up until you admit you are an extremely attractive, well-built person with an incredible a-” Cas stops, blinking. “An incredible … amount of things to offer the world.”

Dean squints.

Cas stares back, eyes narrowed in challenge, and with his cheeks all flushed from the workout and his sweat-damp hair curling along his forehead, Dean can’t help but think of his initial reaction to Cas suggesting they do some insane butt-blasting.

(The tight shorts helped not at all.)

(Neither did the way they made it painfully clear just how much all that butt-blasting did for Cas, because holy _shit,_ if Dean was having a mildly concerning number of fantasies about the dude’s ass _before_ . . .)

Cas clears his throat, and Dean jumps.

Of course, the slight shift across the mat just alerts him to the fact that all the blood pumping and butt-blasting (and Cas in those tiny, tiny shorts) has gone straight to an entirely different sort of head.

Except-

“Wait,” he blurts out. “Did you just say I’m ‘extremely attractive?’”

Cas sucks in a breath.

“I … well – yes. Obviously. Because you are. My sister is also extremely attractive,” he adds abruptly. “It’s a – an easily recognizable quality, and both of you should be grateful.”

Dean tries and fails not to be a little bit crushed by being lumped in with Cas’s sister, even if she is smoking hot.

“Oh. Thanks.”

Anyway, he still needs to lose the pie-top.

“Certainly.” Cas rubs the back of his neck. “Are you ready for another?”

Dean stares.

“Another what?” he asks, because Cas can’t possibly mean-

“’Booty’ exercise.”

Dean turns his face into the mat with a groan.

At least his semi is gone.

In retrospect, deciding to subject them both to a full hour of POP Pilates just so he could ogle Dean’s ass (and back and arms and shoulders because the drenched t-shirt went the way of things by video three) while keeping his body preoccupied enough not to actually betray its overwhelming interest in the sight (and maybe getting an idea of how good Dean’s stamina was, not that such information will ever be relevant to him) was a _terrible_ idea.

“Fuck – _you -_ Castiel.”

Cas tries to scowl around his labored gasps.

“Why my full name?”

“We’re not friends anymore.” Dean shifts, groaning. “Son of a _bitch._ Please, _please,_ tell me you’re tapped out.”

Cas nods reluctantly.

“I’m tapped out.”

“Oh, thank _God.”_

Cas lies there for another moment, enjoying the sight of shirtless-Dean all flushed and sweaty and panting, tired eyes shut and muscles still tense from the workout.

If Cas tries hard enough, he can pretend it’s from a different sort of workout.

Although - maybe he shouldn’t. Assuming he even _can_ make it through a shower and crawl his way into bed, he’s not sure he’ll be physically capable of masturbating after all of this.

(Which can only be a good thing. Obviously.)

Anyway, Dean’s bound to open his eyes eventually, so after a minute or so Cas forces himself to look away and drag himself into an upright position, muscles screaming all the while.

“I think I’ll go to take a shower while you recover.”

Dean cracks one eye open, and when it has to search to locate Cas’s face, his expression turns resentful.

“How the fuck are you already up?”

Cas shrugs, though it takes effort not to wince.

“That was all reasonably familiar to me.”

Except he usually only does a couple videos, and only a few times a week, but - Dean doesn’t need to know that.

Dean pouts for a moment.

And then his arm shoots out, hand wrapping around Cas’s bicep and pulling him back down.

“Wha-” Cas starts, too startled to stop it, but then Dean rolls, hoisting himself on top of Cas and settling in snug, like he’s simply making himself comfortable.

Cas’s pulse, which had only _just_ started to calm down, sets off in a screaming panic.

“Dean?” he wheezes, and Dean hums.

“I want first shower.”

“You’re clearly not ready to go anywhere.”

“Yeah, and now neither are you.”

Cas rolls his eyes, although really, he’s committing every sensation to memory. It should be gross and uncomfortable, having Dean’s hot, sweaty body plastered heavily against his own, but -

Cas is, unsurprisingly, less bothered by it than he should be.

“I could have been in and out by the time you managed to drag yourself in there, for the record,” he points out, and after a beat, Dean wriggles, propping himself up on his elbows.

Amused green eyes peer down at Cas, Dean’s breaths still a little short and fast as they puff against Cas’s nose.

 _Please, please_ _let this be it_ _,_ Cas thinks.

He keeps his face neutral, raising a brow.

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Just, you know - I think it’s funny that you think you’d be done in time. I haven’t seen you be in there for less than forty-five minutes all week.”

Cas gulps, quickly looking to the side, and there’s a long pause above him. He can feel Dean holding his breath, can feel it when he slowly lets it out.

“Oh.”

“Like you don’t,” Cas mutters.

“Well, I mean, _yeah,_ but – I’m usually faster.” Dean inhales sharply. “Not that I’m – I just mean – I’m _trying_ to hurry, so … you must, uh. Must really like to take your time, huh?”

“Yes. And _s_ _ome_ things are a little harder to rush,” Cas adds on impulse, hoping Dean will feel at least as awkward as Cas and just _drop_ it.

Dean looks confused for a moment.

And then his expression sort of goes slack.

“Oh,” he says again, and Cas swears he can feel Dean’s heartbeat, fast and stuttering from the workout, inches from his own. Cas waits for him to roll away, to make a face and tell Cas to ‘keep it to yourself, man,’ but Dean just sort of rakes his eyes over Cas’s face, his own gaze vaguely distant.

If Cas didn’t know any better …

Dean shifts, and Cas lets out an involuntary gasp, causing him to freeze again.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a little rough, and Cas blinks up at him, mouth going dry.

“Yes. Are … you?”

He can’t tell if it’s wishful thinking that’s making the region of his hips feel suddenly hot, Dean’s own pressed into them.

If it’s wishful thinking that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, some of that contact he’s feeling . . .

“Yeah,” Dean whispers, and suddenly he’s sliding his elbows forward, head ducking down, and Cas’s eyes cross as Dean’s mouth drifts inches away from his own like he might really be about to-

Behind Cas’s head, the Skype ringtone bursts out of the speakers, a smug jingle as Dean scrambles off of him with much more agility than he should be capable of, given what they spent the last hour doing.

Numbly, Cas twists a little to look at the screen.

_Anna Novak calling._

God damn _Anna._

“Well, uh. Looks like I get first dibs, after all.” Dean clears his throat, struggling to his feet. “Tell her I said ‘hi.’”

He hobbles out of the room without waiting for a response.

Cas lies there and listens to that horrible, obnoxious sound for a few seconds longer before he finally forces himself to roll over and answer.

“ _Anna,_ ” he grits out, glaring into the camera, and her smile falters.

“What?”

“You have the worst timing _ever._ ”

“How do I-” She cuts off, mouth dropping open, accusation in her gaze. “Wait a minute – did you do pilates _without_ me?”

Cas huffs.

Next time he gets sore and sweaty in his room with Dean – if there ever is a next time, which there probably won’t be, since Anna just completely ruined his chance of showing Dean exactly why there being _multiple_ times is an excellent idea-

He’s signing out of Skype.

Dean keeps his shower short - he can barely lift his arms and also, he’s not about to jerk off five minutes after he and Cas both admitted that’s what they do in there and it will thus be on the forefront of Cas’s mind (in a platonic, well-that-happened-way, because obviously Cas has no other reason to think about Dean touching himself) – and then he hides in his room and tries not to panic about the whole _almost-kissing-Cas_ thing.

Because, you know, he _almost kissed Cas._

What the hell was he _thinking_? Like, after a few days of being stuck inside, nothing else to do but try not to ogle Cas in his peripheral, he’d realized just how touchy-feely he tended to get with the guy. Which was fine – maybe – when they were just seeing each other at the end of the day, hanging out in the apartment a few hours before bed, but Cas is bound to notice if Dean’s pawing at him pretty much from dawn to dusk every day during quarantine, so Dean’s been doing his best to dial it back.

And especially in light of the _hand-washing_ incident …

Well, Dean’s been carefully keeping his distance, is all. Besides, it’s just responsible, what with a deadly, easily-transmittable virus on the loose.

Except physical exhaustion must have disconnected his few useful brain cells from the rest of the hub, because when he saw Cas sitting there, all god-like and mussy and smug, Dean couldn’t help himself. His fingers started itching and his heart started marching to the beat of a different, sexier drum than the pilates-torture one, and for the first time since he read the news and realized something he can’t see or fight could be coming for everybody he loved and then some, Dean wasn’t worried about a damn thing.

There was just Cas, beautiful and bright and maybe as much of a sadist as that god-awful pilates woman, but still perfect in a way that made Dean ache. And that -

Dean just sort of gave in to that.

And when Cas didn’t stop him, just got all grumpy and indulgent, the way he often does with Dean – when Cas archly implied all sorts of things about how he likes it, when it’s just him and their shared shower/bath combo and the hot water pouring down across his gorgeous back and ridiculous hips and oh, God, that _ass_ -

Dean lost his head.

But then Anna called and it came back and now Dean’s feeling stupid and embarrassed and keyed-up and a little afraid of the fallout, so he takes his five-minute shower and throws on sweats and crawls straight into bed to try and forget he exists.

It doesn’t work.

So _then_ he tries reading the news to distract himself, which _does_ work, except it works too well and suddenly he’s out of bed trying not to hyperventilate and run through every worst-case scenario for everyone he’s ever cared about, never mind all the people _they_ care about, and even if the virus doesn’t kill them, what if society collapses and he can’t get to Mom and Dad or Sammy or even if he can, what’s going to be _left_ , how’s he going to help everyone else when he’s just one person, and shit, shit, _shit_ -

He flees to the kitchen for a cup of decaf, desperately wishing he could drink without potentially fucking himself in case Cas _did_ catch this thing from Neighbor Jim.

Anyway, he huddles on the sofa underneath Cas’s blanket because it smells like Cas and he knows Cas won’t mind – or at least, he never minded before quarantine, which is just _another_ thing to worry about, because if Dean keeps nagging him and almost-kissing him, Cas might actually move out, and then if any of the worst-case scenario things _do_ happen, Dean might never see him again, might not be able to help him when he needs it, and-

Cas’s bedroom door opens.

“Dean?”

Dean swallows, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s about to cry.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going for a shower. Do you need anything in there first?”

Dean shakes his head, then remembers Cas can’t see him.

“Nah. I’m good.”

There’s a pause.

“Alright.”

A few seconds later, the bathroom door shuts. Dean takes a deep breath and lifts his mug to his mouth, reminding himself that the crazier he is about this, the more likely it is that Cas’ll put himself in jeopardy just to spite him, or worse, leave altogether.

And because he can actually _do_ something about that _–_ that’s what he needs to focus on.

It makes him feel a little better, actually – but only for about sixty seconds, because then the shower turns on and all the brainspace freed up by Dean’s ‘refocusing’ effort is immediately flooded by thoughts related to showers and Cas doing things in them _,_ and _apparently,_ Dean’s quarantine experience is destined to be characterized by a vicious cycle of lust and terror.

_Some things are a little harder to rush._

Like … maybe Cas didn’t say – which is a good thing, because Dean’s not sure he could have handled hearing Cas say it ouright, at least not without embarrassing himself – but that has to mean …. which suggests that right _now,_ with Dean thirty feet away on the sofa drinking coffee, Cas could be slowly palming himself with one hand, head thrown back to catch the warm, soothing spray of water while the slick fingers of his other hand gently tease at his-

Dean gulps.

Maybe he _should_ think about the impending apocalypse and the deaths of everyone he loves instead.

Cas takes the fastest shower he’s had in a week, a little paranoid Dean will assume he’s … doing things in there.

Which he probably should have thought of before he came right out and _said_ he was doing those things in there, but listen; Dean was _on top of him,_ inches away, and Cas wasn’t thinking straight in any sense of the word.

Anyway, he’s towel-dried and moisturized and dressed in fifteen minutes exactly, and after a deep, fortifying breath, he leaves the bathroom to see where they’re at.

Dean is on the sofa, coffee mug in hand and forehead creased, and he jumps a little when Cas appears.

Cas clears his throat.

“Hello,” he says cautiously.

“Uh. Hi.”

Cas hovers at the mouth of the hall, uncertain, but Dean just sort of stares.

“That was fast,” he says abruptly, and _of-fucking-course._ Cas looks away, neck hot.

“I was hardly going to do anything after we just talked about what I do.”

“But you know I do stuff, too,” Dean protests, like he’s trying to _convince_ Cas to go ahead and finger himself to orgasm in their shared shower, like he cares one way or the other.

“You should be happy I’m not wasting water and fogging up the bathroom,” he points out. “To say nothing of your half of the bill.”

“I don’t care about that,” Dean says quickly. “You, uh. You should do what you want. Especially now, when you can’t … do all the other stuff you want. You deserve it.”

Part of Cas appreciates that, that Dean sympathizes with the struggles of quarantine and sincerely feels that Cas should be able to masturbate extravagantly if he wants to, various costs be damned – but most of Cas just wishes Dean thought he deserved something _else_ he wanted.

“It’s fine. Besides, it’s – awkward, now. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Dean protests, and after a beat, sets his mug on the end table. “We, uh. We’re roommates, right? Gotta talk about these things.”

Cas is fairly certain roommate code calls for a dedicated _avoidance_ of these topics, but what does he know?

“Still-”

“I take way too many showers,” Dean points out. “Maybe they’re not hour-long, but – come on. Except for today’s ass-blasting, I’m not doing anything to need them. It’s ridiculous.”

Cas has not yet gotten around to thinking about Dean and his showers or what he does in them, and he intends to put it off as long as possible.

“Well, that’s certainly, um, your busi-”

“On the _other_ hand – you’re right,” Dean interrupts, shrugging. “I don’t wanna rain on your parade, but – it’s not really environmentally friendly. For either of us.”

“Right, so-”

“So you can just – you know. Do it in your room. Even if I heard something, it’s – I mean, like you said earlier. I do it, too. It’s not really a big deal.”

Cas just sort of stares.

“Okay,” he eventually manages. “Uh. I guess – the same goes for you, then.”

“Okay. Awesome.”

“So, we’ll just … take short showers and … handle quarantine like – adults,” Cas clarifies, still struggling to understand how they’re even having this conversation.

Dean licks his lips – _they probably taste like coffee,_ Cas thinks dumbly – and nods.

“Yup. Sounds good.”

Cas nods back.

“Yes. Okay.” He hesitates. “How, um, how do you feel about some dinner?”

Dean looks blankly at him for a moment, and then shakes himself.

“Right, dinner. Uh – whatever’s good. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

“Butt-blasting will do that,” Cas offers, but it’s another moment of staring before Dean ducks his head and chuckles.

“I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you?” he mutters, getting to his feet, and heat floods Cas’s face.

“I-”

“I defrosted some chicken breasts,” Dean continues breezily, circling the sofa. “How’s chicken parm sound?”

Cas swallows his initial retort, too embarrassed to be grateful for the subject change.

“And for vegetables?”

“There’s already tomato sauce.”

“Which is in no way a substitute for actual vegetables.”

Dean just sighs.

But he squeezes Cas’s shoulder as he passes, and Cas-

Cas feels warm for an entirely different reason.


	5. the pizza delivery incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: physical force, similar to the hand-washing incident, is used, so to repeat, this is not really okay, references to masturbation, references to Covid-19 (loss of smell/taste as a possible symptom), let me know if I forgot anything.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope everyone is doing well ♡ Please enjoy!

Cas wakes to the sound of muffled moans and whimpers.

It only takes a few seconds for him to realize they’re coming from Dean’s room, interspersed with telling _thunks,_ and only a few seconds more to realize what they must signify.

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean groans out, and Cas’s eyes widen, the air freezing in his lungs, because there was no mistaking that groan, no mistaking that Dean is in his room, in his _bed,_ broad hand stroking himself to completion and helplessly uttering Cas’s name while he does it.

Cas has to get up. Has to knock on Dean’s door, has to push it open, has to crawl onto the bed and stop Dean’s hand with his own and tell him there’s no point in _both_ of them fantasizing when they can just have the reality, as many times as they want, because Cas has been waiting for this, _wanting_ it, for so, so long-

“Cas . . . you _son of a bitch._ ”

Cas stills, already half-hard in his pajama pants, heart pounding.

“Oh, God,” comes another groan, and then Cas hears Dean’s bedroom door open. “Cas, you up?”

Cas looks down at his blanket-covered lower half and the telling bump to be found there.

 _Almost,_ he nearly calls back, but restrains himself.

“I just woke up.”

There’s an irritated noise.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been up for ten fucking minutes and only just crawled my way to the door, and since it’s _your_ goddamn fault – you should bring me coffee.”

Cas shuts his eyes, disappointment and a bone-deep resentment washing over him.

“In a minute.”

“What, Captain Bootyblaster can’t move this morning, either?”

God damn _Dean._

With a much less sexy groan of his own, Cas throws off the blanket and struggles out of bed.

“I can’t believe you and Anna do that all the time,” Dean grumbles, sprawled out on the sofa with a barely elevated head as he nurses his coffee. “Are you guys even _human_?”

“Yes. Though we _are_ named for angels.” He tries not to sound bitter. The kitchen chairs are hard and uncomfortable, his ass is incredibly sore and not for any fun reasons, and Dean is hogging the sofa with his gorgeous, sleep-mussed self, one perfect bowleg dangling off the edge of the cushion, and all Cas wants to do is climb on top of him and make sure neither one of them will be able to move at _all_ afterward.

“You’re too buff to be an angel,” Dean yawns, shifting a little to scratch at the supposed pie-top he was complaining about.

Cas wants to lean over the sofa back and lick it.

“Angels are warriors of God.”

“No, angels lounge on clouds and play harps and sing and shit.” Dean pauses. “So actually, yeah, you definitely can’t be an angel. How’s Anna’s voice?”

Cas maintains that he would sing much, much better if people would just let him _practice._

“Even worse than mine,” he lies, and Dean snorts, wriggling a little to look at Cas, though Cas is mostly trying to focus on his laptop.

“Don’t feel too bad. You got that speaking voice, after all.”

It takes Cas a moment to answer, his gaze caught on a rather disturbing headline, but then he decides he’s Just Not Going To Think About It, and he raises his head again.

“Speaking voice?”

“The Batman voice. Or the phone-sex operator voice.”

“The – excuse me?”

“Oh, please, like you don’t know. Could listen to you talk all day.” Dean suddenly goes still. “I mean, if you weren’t – you know, you. And I weren’t - me. You know?”

No, Cas doesn’t know. He thinks it sounds like Dean is saying he has a sexy voice, one he _would_ find attractive if only the person it was attached to were _not_ Cas, but Cas finds that thought vaguely crushing, so he decides he’s misunderstood.

“Of course,” he says dully, and goes back to scrolling past headlines which are clearly designed to get a reaction out of people but are surely not that serious or terrifying. “The, uh, the coffee smells nice.”

“Uh, yeah?” He hears Dean sniff. “Usually does.”

“But you can smell it, right?”

There’s a confused pause.

“Well, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

Cas takes a deep breath.

“No reason. Um. Why don’t you turn on the TV?” He resolutely shuts his laptop. He refuses to worry about this. It’s beyond his control, he and Dean are both young, healthy people in quarantine, and it’s just his stifled libido causing his nerves to overreact.

Everything is going to be fine.

Aside from being temporarily crippled, Dean thinks it’s a pretty good day.

Cas seems a little grumpy when he first wakes up – but then, so was Dean – but he settles down and even comes to sit on the sofa, moving Dean’s feet onto his lap to make a space for himself without a word.

And since _Cas_ is the one who instigated it – well, there’s no reason for Dean to feel bad, right?

Anyway, it’s so . . . _comfortable,_ that Dean doesn’t want to risk losing it, so he ignores his hunger pains and his bladder signals and he doesn’t say a goddamn word when Cas absentmindedly starts petting his ankles, and by the time three o’ clock rolls around, he’s trying to decide if it would be reasonable to offer to let _Cas_ have a turn resting a body part of some kind on Dean’s lap - you know, just to be fair.

Unfortunately, by three o’ clock, the bladder signals are getting a little _too_ hard to ignore, and Dean has no choice but to draw back his feet and excuse himself.

He swears Cas’s grip on his ankle tightens for a moment before he lets go, looking surprised.

“Sorry,” Dean offers. “Uh, nature calls.”

“Oh. Of course. I’m . . . probably dehydrated, myself.”

Dean shrugs.

“TV’s been on. Well, and it’s hard to move.”

Cas’s lips quirk, and Dean instinctively winks.

Immediately, Cas ducks his chin, rubbing the back of his neck.

“A-actually, I’m a little hungry, too.”

“Yeah? Me too, now that you mention it,” he agrees, although he’s been low-key fantasizing about greasy food for the last two hours.

“I’ll think about our options while you do that, then.”

“Sounds good.”

Dean uses the bathroom trip as an opportunity to sort of regroup (read: strategize on how to get some more sofa contact going without making it weird – maybe he could offer Cas a foot massage? Dean’s not a foot-guy, but Cas has gorgeous feet, and if that’s all Dean ever gets to rub his hands all over, he’ll take it) and when Cas looks up and smiles at him when he comes back in the room, he decides to risk it.

“God, I can barely move,” he complains, collapsing exaggeratedly about a foot away from Cas, like he’s not even paying attention, and Cas sighs.

“Perhaps we got carried away.”

“ _Perhaps_?”

“Well, you were able to do it, weren’t you?”

Dean swallows, casually turning and propping his elbow on the sofa back, ‘accidentally’ leaning forward in the process.

“That’s not a good way to measure things, buddy. I would have done another hour if you’d insisted, and then I would have just gone back to my room and literally died.”

Cas raises a brow, turning slightly, and Dean tries to smother the little thrill that shoots through him when it brings them even closer.

“You should have quit sooner, Dean. The point wasn’t to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” he teases, and Cas frowns.

“It wasn’t. It’s supposed to be good for you.”

“Yeah? I thought it was supposed to take the edge off.”

“Oh. That, too.”

Dean tilts his head.

“Did it?”

“Um. Yes. I think so.”

“You sure? You seemed a little tense, this morning.”

Cas just sort of looks at him for a long moment, and then sighs.

“Bad dreams,” he mutters, and then shakes his head, turning away.

Dean tries not to feel too disappointed.

“Anyway . . . since you’re back, I’m going to start this again, alright?”

“Yeah. Go for it.”

He suppresses a sigh of his own and settles back against the sofa to watch.

It’s only about thirty minutes later, when his stomach lets out a loud, painful growl, that he realizes they forgot to talk about food.

“Hey, you said you’d think of options while I-”

And then the doorbell rings.

Dean freezes, head whipping around.

What the fuck? What the actual _fuck_? Everyone’s supposed to be in quarantine, who could possibly be at the door?

Unless – oh, God, what if it’s Neighbor Jim’s wife, and he passed out from lack of oxygen from the lung stuff and she needs help getting him to a hospital and she’s hysterical because she’s worried so she doesn’t give him a chance to put on gloves and cover his face, or she even seizes his arms and tries to pull him into the hallway and then he and Cas both end up getting sick, too, and-

And Cas is standing, unsurprised, and heading for the door.

Hands bare, mouth uncovered, and a smile on his face.

Dean doesn’t think twice. He lurches forward and throws his arms around Cas’s waist, pulling him right back over the sofa arm. They go sprawling backward, Cas landing on top of him with a grunt.

“Dude!” Dean snaps. “What the hell are you _doing_?”

Cas twists on top of him, trying to squirm free.

“Getting the _door,_ Dean, what are _you_ doing?”

Dean tightens his hold, and when Cas gives a particularly powerful jerk, he moves with him, flipping them over.

Cas suddenly goes still beneath him, and Dean shifts his weight a little to get better leverage, to make sure Cas can’t throw him off, settling his elbows on either side of Cas’s shoulders.

“ _Seriously_ ? You have no idea who it is or what they want or where they’re even coming from, and you’re just gonna throw open the door and invite them _in_ ? Without wearing _any_ protective gear?”

He thinks Cas swallows.

“I do know who it is,” he finally mumbles. “It’s the pizza I ordered while you were in the bathroom.”

Dean stares at the back of his head, stunned.

“The . . . you . . . you ordered a fucking _pizza_? For someone to _deliver_ ? Someone who’s been to fifty other fucking residences before _ours_ ? A pizza made by other unquarantined people and shoved in a _goddamn cardboard box_?”

“Yes,” Cas snaps. “And they’re waiting, so if you don’t mind-”

Cas shoves back, trying to get his arms underneath him, and Dean scrambles to keep his balance, to keep him down.

“Dude, _no_ ! You do not need a pizza! Especially not one covered in virus germs! What the hell were you -” Cas bucks again, and Dean quickly throws his weight down against him, thighs squeezing around Cas’s to hold him still. “ What were you _thinking_?”

Cas is still wriggling, trying to struggle free, and Dean desperately shifts with him to counter each move.

“Let me – Dean, _get off_ -” he demands, and finally, one of his hands snake free, bracing against the cushion to push up.

Dean doesn’t think twice. He lurches forward, snatching it in his own and dragging it even farther up, so Cas’s arm is extended and pinned in place.

Of course, Cas just tries to heave upward with his opposite shoulder, so Dean slams his other hand down against it and squeezes tight.

“ _Stay,_ ” he snarls, pressing down hard in a warning against further efforts, and Cas-

Cas groans, low and deep, and goes utterly limp beneath him.

At which point Dean realizes he’s fucking done it _again._

Heat floods his cheeks, and with it, concern.

“Cas?” He gulps. “I - are you okay? Did I – did I hurt you?”

Cas doesn’t answer for a moment, breaths ragged where his face is pressed into the sofa.

“No,” he eventually says, hoarse, like maybe he’s trying not to cry, and guilt squeezes at Dean’s lungs.

He sits back, and Cas shudders underneath him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, at a loss. “I just – you ordered a pizza, and – and you were gonna get the door, without _any_ protective gear, and – and I just – Cas, I’m just trying to take care of us.”

There’s more silence, and Dean tentatively puts a palm between Cas’s shoulder blades.

Cas twitches.

“Oh, God,” he mumbles, and Dean’s heart sinks, alarm filling him.

“Okay, you’re clearly not alright-shit!” Cas abruptly pushes upward, throwing him off. Dean falls back against the other side of the sofa, and Cas is on his feet in an instant.

“Fine. I won’t eat pizza,” he grits out. “Deal with it how you think is best. I’m going to my room.”

And then he stalks down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

The doorbell rings again.

Cas doesn’t touch himself.

Cas lies there in his bed, anxious and jittery and unbelievably turned on, groin aching and ass tingling and a ceaseless stream of sexual fantasy barraging his poor, overtaxed brain, but he doesn’t touch himself.

Because he’s almost out of lube and _also –_ what is the fucking _point_?

Dean has to stop. He _has_ to. He can’t keep doing this, not if he’s not going to follow through. Cas is so – so _angry,_ and upset, and his body is so confused and it felt so _good_ to have Dean’s weight pressing him into the sofa, to have Dean hold onto his arm like that, like he had Cas right where he wanted him and it _was_ good, it was excellent, because it was right where Cas wanted to be, too. Except Dean _wasn’t_ trying to make him feel good, not at all. No, Dean was just being a fucking _asshole,_ and he’s never going to follow through on any of it and Cas will die of sexual frustration and unrequited feelings before Covid-19 ever gets anywhere near him.

He lies there, sullen and vexed, until his pulse rate calms and his erection softens and wild plans to abandon all his personal belongings to live in a cocoon on Gabriel’s sofa start to look appropriately drastic, and when he is in fact settled enough to actually start drifting off to sleep -

There’s a knock on the door.

He sighs.

“Go away, Dean.”

“Can I come in?” he asks, like he didn’t hear a firm, clear command to do the opposite, and Cas glares at the door.

“No.”

“Please? I – I have food.”

“I don’t want it. I wanted _pizza,_ because you’re right and I did pilates for too long and all I want is something unapologetically slathered in cheese to make me feel better , but you’re _paranoid_ and _controlling_ and whatever you want to give me? _I’m not interested._ ”

There’s a long silence, and Cas decides that for once, Dean has decided to listen to him.

But then:

“Okay. That – that’s fair. But I do. Have pizza.”

Cas blinks.

“You . . . do?”

“Yeah. I, uh. I gloved up and stuff and let him hand it to me through the door, and then I shook it out onto a pan so I could put it in the oven, ‘cause google says thorough cooking should kill this thing.”

“Oh.”

“I can just – we don’t have to eat together, I know I was – uh. Anyway, I can just leave it outside your door?”

Cas hesitates.

Really, he needs to have a long, open conversation with Dean about physical boundaries and personal autonomy and how to share whatever concerns he may have without bodily tormenting his roommate.

Except there’s just one problem.

That conversation ends with Cas saying, ‘Don’t touch me.’

And that – as frustrated as Cas feels, as confused and desperate as he gets when Dean does things like bending him over the sink or pinning him to the sofa with his own body, as much as he’s not sure he’ll be able to survive another _day_ of this without effectively losing his mind . . .

He doesn’t really want Dean to not touch him.

And even though Dean is utterly in the wrong and has been behaving abominably over this entire pandemic issue, to the point that Cas isn’t even sure there’s _space_ for he, himself, to start panicking – not that he would – and even though Dean deserves to spend the night eating the pizza Cas very thoughtfully ordered for them to share in guilty loneliness -

 _Cas_ doesn’t deserve to have to sit and eat all by himself, and even if he’s upset with Dean, Dean is still the person he most wants to be with.

“Come in,” he calls softy, resigned, and the door almost immediately pushes open, Dean scanning him with worried eyes.

“Hey – look, about earlier-”

Cas shakes his head.

“Later. I’m – tired. Just bring me pizza. And log into Netflix on my laptop.”

“Okay.” Dean sort of looks at Cas, unsure. “Uh. Do you want . . . like, should I leave you alone, after that?”

Cas frowns at him.

“No.” He pauses, and then he decides ‘fuck it’ and carelessly shoves back the blanket beside him. “You’re going to sit with me.”

Dean blinks, green eyes pretty and confused, and Cas melts a little bit more.

“Oh.” Dean nods. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll – here, this plate was for you, I’ll just, uh, go get mine.”

“Alright.”

Cas waits while Dean shuffles forward and slides the plate across the bed, and then he continues waiting, because Dean _owes_ him and they’re going to eat in bed together, and when Dean comes back and gingerly crawls in a respectable foot away from him, Cas decides that’s the best he’s going to get.

“Netflix,” he reminds him gently, when Dean just perches tensely, staring at his plate of pizza, and Dean jumps a little.

“Right, yeah.” He reaches for Cas’s laptop, quickly navigating to Netflix and signing in. “Just – where we left off, right?”

Cas nods, picking up his plate.

“Yes, please.”

Wordlessly, Dean clicks play, and then he starts in on his own pizza.

“It, uh. It’s really good,” he says after a few minutes. “Really hits the spot, after all the butt stuff.”

Cas pauses, glancing over at him, and Dean makes a face.

“I – you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Cas agrees slowly, and then resumes eating. Dean shifts beside him, and then something warm brushes Cas’s foot.

Dean flinches.

“Jesus, your feet are fucking freezing.”

“I forgot socks.”

“They’re like _ice,_ ” he continues, still grimacing in their direction, and Cas sighs.

“I’m aware.”

Dean looks down at the blanket over their feet, contemplative.

And then he shifts again, and two spots of heat tuck themselves in between and to the side of Cas’s feet, Dean’s own warming them.

Cas stops breathing.

“That okay? You kinda took care of mine, earlier, so . . . seems fair.”

“Uh. Yeah. That’s . . . fine.”

Cas realizes, suddenly, that he has no idea what’s happened in the show since they started up again.

“Okay. Let me know if you get too hot.”

Cas just barely smothers the (hysterical) laugh that bubbles up, at that.

Dean has no fucking clue.

Dean sort of feels like he’s getting away with something.

Which, even if Cas is pissed, he’s technically let Dean get away with all kinds of bullshit, in terms of hand-washing and frozen books and delivery-acceptance-prevention, but this is – like – come _on._ They’re in bed, watching Netflix, feet tangled together, and maybe it’s not in the way Dean’s always pictured, but -

 _He’s in Cas’s bed._ And the fact that they’re touching, period, especially since Dean royally ticked him off less than two hours ago is just -

They could be watching furry porn for all Dean would notice. It’s just Cas’s feet, disturbingly chilly and sandwiched up with his own, and Cas’s inordinately sexy pizza-chewing echoing quietly between them, and Cas’s mouthwatering shoulder, less than a foot from Dean’s, t-shirt pulling suggestively over it, and fine, maybe Dean’s really feeling the lack of masturbatory shower sessions today.

(Or maybe he’s remembering just how nice Cas felt, a strong line of heat underneath him on the sofa earlier, frantically bucking back against him in what a random stranger walking in would probably assume was-)

“Dean?”

Dean chokes a little.

“Y-yeah?”

“I asked if you wanted me to get you some.”

Dean draws back a little, stunned.

“What?”

“I said I was going for more pizza. And I asked if you’d like some more, as well?”

Heat rushes into his face.

“Oh. No, no, you – you ordered it, and stuff, and I – with the thing – you know, I should get it. Stay here and keep your feet warm,” he adds, offering a smile.

Cas hesitates, then tentatively smiles back.

“Alright. Thank you.”

Dean hastily wriggles out of bed and to the kitchen, peeling back the foil on the pizza to grab a few more slices.

Cas is looking unnervingly pensive when he returns.

“Everything okay?”

Cas blinks, glancing up.

“Uh. Yes, fine.”

And yeah, _that_ doesn’t sound suspicious.

Dean carefully settles back in next to him, hoping Cas won’t notice it’s a little closer than before.

“How’re the feet doing?”

He gets a sidelong glance.

“They could be warmer,” Cas says evenly, and Dean obligingly slides his feet back into position, trying not to preen when Cas lets out a quiet, content sigh.

But then Cas reaches for the mouse on his laptop, and Dean – he can’t help himself.

“Really quick – I, uh. I’m sorry. About earlier.”

Cas’s hand pauses over the trackpad.

“Sorry,” he repeats, then nods. “Like you were sorry about the hand-washing incident. Which you then said wouldn’t happen again.”

Dean winces.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did say that, and I swear I meant it – I never meant to do the hand-washing thing in the first place, okay, and I definitely didn’t mean to trap you on the sofa, but – it’s just – I’m trying, I swear. And when things are going smoothly, that works, I’m – coping, I guess, but when you do stuff like sucking down Neighbor Jim’s cough germs or asking for virus boxes to be delivered, I just – I lose my head a little. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m trying-” He takes a deep breath. “Like I said earlier. I just – I’m trying to take care of us. Take care of _you_ . I can’t – like, everyone else is – but _you’re_ here, and we’re doing okay, and I just - really, really wanna keep it that way. That’s all.”

Cas listens, frowning at the blanket, and then his fingers curl and his hand moves to rest against the bed.

“I . . . understand that,” he finally says. “I do. I understand that you’re afraid, and despite your best intentions, it’s entirely likely you’ll panic and do it again.”

“I swear I’ll try n-”

“Just – understand that I’m going to be upset. That if me buying books, going out onto the balcony, ordering pizza – if that’s going to make you panic and behave badly, you have to understand that I’m human, too, and I’m going to get angry at you. And while I appreciate you salvaging my pizza, Dean, and I enjoyed having dinner with you – if I need my own space to be angry at you, you have to let me have it. You can’t try and – and cajole me into forgiving you right away.”

Which – Dean’s not totally sure how to do anything different, but Cas has a point. Even if he still thinks Cas could stand to be a little more responsible, Dean could probably stand to use his words or something, instead of physically restraining him.

“Okay. Okay, I – I respect that, and I’ll try.”

Cas nods shortly.

“That’s all I ask.” He clears his throat. “May we continue, now?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m just gonna – lean back this time,” he says, reaching behind him for the pillow. Cas nods again, but then he freezes, blue eyes going wide, and Dean’s really confused for a second or two.

And then he glances down, to the sheet beneath the pillow and -

“Oh.”

Cas sucks in a breath.

“I – that -”

“No, no, no,” Dean says quickly, desperately trying not to think in any very specific detail what Cas uses this for. “I’ll just put it on the nightstand, okay?”

Cas gulps.

“No, I’ll-” he starts, but Dean’s already picking up the bottle to move it, figuring it’s better to hurry and get it out of the way so they can get their show started and Cas can stop feeling awkward.

After all, they already talked about this, right? They’re both well-aware that they each . . . do things.

Except -

“Dude. This feels empty.”

Cas closes his eyes.

“That’s because it pretty much is.”

“You’ve got a backup, right?”

“No. I do not.”

“Dude, seriously?”

“I was a little preoccupied buying _food,_ Dean.”

“Right, but – what are you gonna do?”

“Masturbate less?” Cas grits out, opening his eyes again. Dean thinks he might be blushing.

(He tries not to think it’s kind of hot.)

Anyway – masturbating less isn’t a solution of any kind, especially not for _Cas_ . Long, daily showers, wherein he gives himself the works? Clearly, Cas takes his personal time seriously, and what’s more, he _deserves_ to do it the way he likes.

Dean meant it, when he said he wanted to take care of Cas.

And if Cas is looking at giving up one of the few things that’s probably keeping him sane, cooped up in the apartment like this with the world pretty much burning all around him?

Well, it’s not happening on Dean’s watch, that’s for fucking sure.

“But – I mean.” Dean hesitates, trying to figure out how best to say it. “That doesn’t seem right. Especially – you know, you’re stuck inside, you can’t do all the stuff you usually like to – that’s – well, it’s not fair for you to lose _that_ , too.”

“I really don’t know what else to do about it, unless you want me to order more off the internet.”

Dean shudders, immediately thinking of sinister, contaminated cardboard boxes.

“Hell no,” he says quickly. “No, I – I’ve got a spare bottle. You can have it.”

Cas just looks at him, expression unreadable.

“You’re going to give me lube.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean – what are friends for?”

Cas continues staring for a moment.

“And . . . you want nothing in return? Nothing at all?” he finally asks, watching Dean closely.

Dean recoils.

“What? No, of course not. Besides, if anything – I owe you, right? Hell, if you wanted _all_ my lube, then – I couldn’t really complain.”

For some reason, Cas’s shoulders slump.

“Indeed. Well. I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

He doesn’t _sound_ particularly appreciative, but then, Dean would be pretty embarrassed, if it were him, so Cas is probably just hoping this conversation will end sooner rather than later.

Which, if Dean wants to avoid thinking about what Cas needs all that lube for – sooner is probably for the best.

“Don’t mention it,” he says easily. “I’ll grab it for you before we go to bed.”

In response, Cas just sighs and hits play.


	6. the thin walls incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: references to cowboy kink/panty kink/buzz lightyear kink, masturbation, rimming, riding, bottom!cas, those last three are in fantasy sorry, reference to past Dean/Cassie, please let me know if I missed anything
> 
> I’m sorry for the delay; I lost someone last week, and though we don’t know if it was Covid or not, it is devastating and scary and I hope as few of you as possible have to go through it in the coming months. Please stay safe and take care of one another - and for those who already are going through this, I wish you all the love and comfort moving forward. ♡

Of course, Cas wakes up hard, the next morning.

He stares at the ceiling in silence for a minute, supposing he shouldn’t be surprised. Dean pinned him to the couch and aggressively rubbed up against him, using a tone of voice that Cas knows was meant to convey, “I am terrified of us catching a disease and I will do everything I can to stop it,” but Cas’s animal brain interpreted as, “I want you desperately and I will do everything I can to have you.” And then he came and foot-cuddled Cas for a full three hours, and _then_ , when Cas was too exhausted to be confused and was ready to finally drift away into peaceful unconsciousness, Dean ducked back into the room and awkwardly pressed a bottle of lube into Cas’s hands.

So, yes. Of-fucking- _course_ Cas wakes up hard _._

It’s not fair. Fantasy-Dean thrusts a bottle of lube into Cas’s hands because he wants to lie back and watch Cas open himself up, just for him, but real Dean good-naturedly shoves the lube at him because he’s _such_ a great friend he wants Cas to be able to thoroughly masturbate to his heart’s content.

Like it doesn’t even occur to him what Cas probably masturbates _to._

And last night – last night, keyed up from the couch-rubbing and miserable with frustrated lust, Cas decided touching himself was pointless, was just another way of needlessly teasing himself when there was zero promise of true relief, and Dean’s oblivious foot-snuggling and disinterested lube donation had him so depressed when he went to bed, he somehow imagined he’d never get hard again.

Except he _hadn’t_ touched himself, and he’d dreamed about Dean in a hazmat suit with a scandalously positioned front flap, assuring Cas his ass was way too hot for Covid to ever survive there, and then Cas’s phone buzzed right when Dean was coating himself in Purell, seconds away from thrusting into Cas’s sanitized, virus-killing heat, and now -

Cas is very, very hard.

(And also a little worried about how much quarantine is getting to him, but - mostly just hard.)

He also happens to have a full, brand-new bottle of lube, and since he can’t quite remember why touching himself was so completely pointless, and since Dean will apparently be unaffected if he hears anything untoward coming from Cas’s room . . .

He decides ‘fuck it’, and reaches under his pillow.

 _Stupid feet,_ he thinks, shoving his pajama pants down and wriggling out of them, glowering at the ceiling all the while. Dean’s feet were warm, softer than Cas expected, skin smooth where it nestled against and around Cas’s own purported ice cubes. And Cas would finally start to forget, to drift back into focus on the show instead of Dean’s warmth and nearness, instead of the feel of every point of contact between them, but then Dean would shift, calf heavy over Cas’s, the arch of his foot brushing over Cas’s instep, and Netflix would be forgotten once again.

Cas didn’t really want to watch Netflix, of course. No, Cas wanted to shove the laptop off the bed and pin Dean to the mattress, wanted to worship his stupid warm feet and his stupid strong calves and his stupid, almost certainly glorious cock, and then he wanted to lie back and accept his own praise and just rewards, however Dean saw fit to dispense them.

He doesn’t understand how Dean can be this _oblivious._

No, he thinks, viciously squirting lube into his palm and angrily fisting his dick. Dean doesn’t have the feelings Cas does, and no, Cas isn’t his type, and no, normally Dean wouldn’t be interested.

But Dean has a sex drive. A fairly demanding one, if confessions of his shower activities are to be believed. Other, better warm bodies are completely inaccessible to him and will be for some time. And since he at least likes Cas as a friend – how has it not occurred to him? How has he not thought, even once, idly, a random, startling aside, that _maybe,_ just maybe, platonically fucking his roommate would be better than just masturbating on his own? _Yes,_ Dean is considerate – when he’s not completely terrified of catching a potentially fatal virus, that is – but now that he knows _Cas_ has a sex drive, too, one that demands its own very thorough shower sessions – surely he must realize the most considerate thing would, in actuality, be to offer?

Mustn’t he?

Cas’s hand slows, a horrible thought materializing in his brain.

What if it _has_?

What if – what if Dean _did_ think of that, of the clearly logical solution to two sexually frustrated young persons cohabiting an apartment during quarantine, and he was so repulsed by the idea that he’s doing everything he can to make sure Cas’s masturbation sessions are as satisfactory as possible so that Cas _won’t_ ask Dean to fuck him?

His hand freezes, erection wilting a little, along with a significant chunk of his soul.

Is that what the lube was about? Did Dean lift that empty bottle and realize the inevitable conclusion to Cas’s supply crisis? Did he _really_ have an extra bottle, or was he just so desperate to avoid any and all offensive propositions Cas might invent that he sacrificed his own? When Cas pressed the issue, asked if there wasn’t something Dean wanted in return, Dean had looked horrified, hadn’t he? Why was that? Did he know what Cas was thinking? Did he know Cas _wanted_ a wide variety of sexual favors to be demanded of him in exchange for the lube? Is Dean just – categorically opposed to accepting even a _small_ variety of sexual favors from him?

Cas loosely clutches his own cock, panic chilling his skin. He’s always known Dean didn’t feel the same, probably wouldn’t ever think of him that way at all – but if he’s _going_ to think of Cas that way, if only as a last resort – does he really find Cas that disgusting?

A little anguished, Cas lets his hand fall, wincing as it sticks to the sheet.

Lube or not, he decides grimly – there will be no masturbating until Cas _fixes_ this.

“Thank you very much for the lubricant, Dean.”

Dean’s surprised his neck doesn’t snap, he lifts his head so fast. The milk carton in his hand immediately starts pouring onto the table next to his bowl, and he quickly straightens it, setting it down.

“Did you use it?” he blurts out, then promptly realizes his mistake. “I mean, how was it?” He shuts his eyes. “I _mean –_ I know it’s probably not what you’re used to, but I hope, if you did use it, not that I need to know about it one way or another, or anything, that it was – you know. Okay.”

There’s a lengthy, startled-seeming silence.

“Uh. Yes? It was – fine. What I was going to s- that is. It – it was fine. More than fine.”

“Oh.” Dean swallows, mouth dry. “I’m, uh. Glad you – enjoyed yourself.”

“I usually do,” Cas says quickly, then clears his throat. “Because I don’t think about other people. For the record.”

Dean blinks. It takes him a long, stuttering moment to figure out what Cas is trying to say.

“Other people,” he echoes, and then his heart sort of jumps at the implication. “Other people than who?”

Something weirdly panicked flits across Cas’s face.

“I mean I don’t think about people,” Cas returns hastily, and then his eyes widen. “I mean, I do, I don’t think about – about bees, or dogs, or vehicles, or anything like that, I’m definitely – it’s people, just not – not real people.”

Dean’s heart settles.

That makes sense. Way more than Cas randomly saying he doesn’t think about anybody other than _Dean._

“Oh. Uh. Cool.”

He suddenly wonders how he came to be in the kitchen, getting breakfast while Cas perches on the sofa and talking about what Cas likes to get off to. That – that’s kind of weird, isn’t it? Like, he’s definitely wondered – optimistically speculated, even – but since the answer apparently isn’t ‘Dean,’ he’s not sure how uncomfortable he should be.

But – maybe quarantine is just bringing them closer together? He and Benny grew up together, and that one time they were drunken freshman, Benny admitted to having a weird Buzz Lightyear fantasy even though he’s mostly straight, and Dean told him about Rhonda Hurley and the panties, and maybe this is Cas’s way of saying, ‘hey, I really trust you, we’re gonna be friends for life.’

Which – that’s awesome, of course, because Dean definitely wants to be friends with Cas for the rest of his life, but . . .

But Dean is _also_ so attracted to Cas he’d fuck him in a Buzz Lightyear costume _and_ pink satin panties, no questions asked.

He shifts in his chair a little, frowning. How _do_ you fuck in a Buzz Lightyear costume? Isn’t the point of those outfits that they’re like, airtight? Would they have get it on in an airlock of some kind, strip down to the helmets and just-

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dean shakes himself.

“Sorry, what?”

Cas looks uncertain.

“You said ‘cool.’ I was agreeing.”

“Oh. Right, right.” Dean pauses. “You know, if – if you wanted to, uh, talk about – you know, stuff. We’re friends. I’m . . . happy to listen.”

Cas blinks.

“Uh. What stuff?”

Dean shrugs, glancing back at his cereal bowl, where the flakes are probably turning soggy, though he’s not worried about it. Cas feeling like he can talk through weird sex stuff, get some reassurance that it’s actually not that weird and, more importantly, that he can trust Dean with just about anything – that’s way more important, right now.

“Like . . . I mean, if you had a, uh, a sexual fantasy or something, that you – I don’t know, just wanted to talk through with me, you can – you can do that.”

There’s an incredibly awkward silence from the other side of the room, and when Dean steals a glance back at Cas, he almost laughs.

Dean’s seen an _actual_ deer in the headlights, one of the times him and Sam drove up to the mountains to go camping with Bobby, and it still didn’t look as frozen and startled as Cas does right now.

“You . . . want me to tell you about a sexual fantasy,” Cas finally says, eerily expressionless.

Dean winces.

“I don’t _want_ you to, I’m just – if _you_ wanted to, I’m totally willing to listen. Sometimes it’s just – nice, I guess, to get these things off.” He nods to himself, then stiffens. “Off your chest. Get these things – off your chest. Is what I meant.”

“Okay.” Cas swallows. “Why is that nice, again?”

“I just – it’s like – it’s a bonding thing. We tell each other some shit we feel kind of weird about, and then we reassure each other it’s okay, and then we – we feel good about it, you know. That we shared, and that we’re still, uh. Still solid.”

Cas looks at him for a long, long moment, almost like he knows Dean is taking an awkward, totally unintentional mutual confession from freshman year and trying to repaint it as some kind of well-known, emotionally healthy tradition of bros throughout the world.

But then he takes a deep breath, and -

“That, um. I suppose that makes sense.”

Dean waits, pulse skipping a little, and after a few beats (or ten), Cas fully turns on the sofa to look at him.

“Actually - why don’t, um, why don’t you go first?” he finally says.

If Dean thought _Cas_ looked like the headlightiest deer to ever deer-in-the-headlight a few moments ago, Dean’s probably giving him a run for his money right now.

“Uh.” He _did_ make it sound like an mutual exchange situation, didn’t he? And technically, it should be, because how else are they going to bond equally, but . . .

It doesn’t feel right to share the panties story, since somebody else knows about it, and all his other super-secret sexual fantasies are kind of only super-secret because they heavily feature _Cas_.

Somehow, he doesn’t think sharing them is really going to help the trust bond, here.

“Cowboy hat,” he eventually says, and Cas sucks in a quiet breath.

“You or me?”

“What?”

“I said, ‘what do you mean?’” Cas repeats quickly, and Dean nods. That makes a lot more sense than what he _thought_ he heard.

“My – my partner’s got one on,” he explains, trying not to think too hard about who he typically imagines as filling that role. “That and, uh, cowboy boots. And nothin’ else. They ride me. Slow. I get to just . . . lie back and watch.”

On the sofa, Cas shifts, fingers curling into the sofa back. Dean watches them, transfixed, as he often is, because _God_ does Cas have nice hands. Strong, graceful hands, with long, elegant fingers that Dean bets would feel _amazing_ digging into his shoulders, urging him on as he-

“That sounds nice,” Cas says lowly, and Dean really, really hopes Cas can’t see his lap very well from the sofa.

“Yeah. Yeah, it, uh. It’s a favorite, for sure.”

“Not very strange, though,” Cas points out, eyes on Dean’s face, and Dean struggles to process the words.

“Kind of. I’ve never, uh, never had the nerve to ask for it, though.”

“I think anyone would give it to you.” Cas blinks, swallows. “Any of your – your past partners, I mean. They would have.”

Dean shrugs.

“I don’t know. It’s not – it’s not bizarre, maybe, but it’s kind of – well, childish. It’s embarrassing, you know? Not really cool or sexy.”

“It is,” Cas protests, intent. “It’s very sexy.”

Dean shifts in his seat. Telling Cas a dirty fantasy that’s featured him for the past two years running is one thing, but hearing _Cas’s_ opinions on it . . .

“Right. Uh. Thank you. What, uh, what about you?”

It takes Cas a small eternity to answer, and Dean swears he can _see_ him running through his options, swears his eyes get darker the longer he thinks.

“Wanting someone desperately.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t have that. I never have. It’s always been – ‘Well, this is happening, and it’s nice. It feels good, let’s go with it.’”

Dean blinks.

“That doesn’t sound ri-”

“When I touch myself,” he continues, and Dean’s words dry right up, Cas’s eyes boring into his, although half of Dean is just seeing Cas spread out and utterly bare, those beautiful hands running all over his own damn body, skilled and sure, the way they must be, by now. “I like to think about wanting someone the way people want each other in fiction. And then I think about getting them, and it being – mind-blowing. Transcendent. Utterly consuming and unforgettable, the way it never is in real life.”

“Oh.”

It’s tragically tame, in some ways, but more than that, it’s not something just anybody can give him.

It’s not something anybody ever _has,_ by the sounds of it.

Two fucking years, Dean’s wished Cas wanted him, but never has he wished as hard as he’s wishing in this moment.

Abruptly, Cas stands.

“I’m going to go lie down,” he says quietly, moving toward the hall, and about ten seconds later, his door shuts.

Dean stares at it for what feels like two full minutes, flinching when he hears the creak of Cas’s bed, a clear sign that Cas must have just sat down on it.

(Or lied down on it.)

Then he makes a beeline for his own room.

Dean, Cas has decided, methodically stripping out of his clothes and settling onto his bed, then reaching for the lube with shaking hands, deserves what he fucking gets.

Asking Cas about his _fantasies_. Having the nerve to tell him about the cowboy hat, using all the appropriately vague terms and pronouns to leave a perfect opening for Cas to envision himself in the role, for him to think about how his brow might feel, sweat-damp and sticking to the interior of the hat, the brim sinking down every time Cas did, the tops of the cowboy boots digging into his skin and Cas not caring because Dean was _watching,_ green eyes dark and arms folded up behind his head like he was utterly unaffected.

But Cas would feel him, tense and taut underneath him, feel every minute jerk as Dean fought not to thrust up into him, fought not to urge Cas to go faster, fought to just let him take it nice and slow and easy, just the two of them, breathing hard in the quiet space of one of their bedrooms for some blissful, stolen eternity where Cas was _finally_ Dean’s fantasy come to life and Dean _wanted_ him, wanted him to be the one to fulfill _all_ his fantasies, no matter how weird or ‘not cool’ they happened to be.

He doesn’t bother trying to muffle the moan that pushes past his lips when he finally gets a slick hand on himself, loosely stroking, teasing himself the way he imagines Dean would, because Dean was describing hot, lazy sex, and hot, lazy sex means neither one of them coming until they’ve been to the edge and back a dozen times and there’s no longer any question of turning around again.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and maybe Dean can hear, out in the kitchen, eating his cereal, but you know what? Cas tried. Cas _tried_ to promise him he didn’t fantasize about him – even if it was a lie – tried to make him feel safe and comfortable and secure in their shared quarantine space, tried to right the wrong that must have prompted Dean to sacrifice his precious lube – but _no._ Dean wanted fantasies, wanted to mime the _real_ give and take Cas has been craving for years, and if _Cas_ wants to spend the whole goddamn day jerking off and fucking himself to thoughts of both those fantasies and more? Dean can just turn the stupid volume up on the TV, because Cas is _done._

He’s done feeling guilty and he’s done holding back and he’s done trying to respect Dean’s boundaries, because Cas’s are in unrecognizable tatters on the ground and Dean has no fucking idea what he’s doing to Cas with his hand-washing bullshit and his ban on answering the door and his frank, open discussions of sex and sexuality, and oh, _God,_ forget the cowboy hat and the boots and hot, lazy sex; Dean’s an idiot and Cas is done and from now on, Cas is going to think about Dean however the hell he wants, because Dean’s clearly not thinking about Cas _at all._

Fantasy-Dean is, though. Fantasy-Dean _isn’t_ a raging germaphobe, doesn’t give a single damn about whether Cas has Covid or a cold or a slight vitamin-D deficiency, and fantasy-Dean is perfectly willing to gently press him down, hands slipping down to Cas’s thighs to push them up and back, to leave him open and exposed to an ardent desire that cares not a whit for international pandemics. In fact, Cas doubts real-Dean would _ever_ eat him out, even without the issue of pandemics and a total lack of attraction to Cas, and he takes savage pleasure in imagining fantasy-Dean licking his lips and sliding his hands even lower, spreading Cas open and eagerly ducking his head down to press a hot, wet kiss to Cas’s hole.

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” Cas moans, abandoning his cock entirely to let his fingers play at his entrance, circling the way Dean’s tongue would, with gentle, teasing licks to start out, the barest flick of the tip against Cas’s rim while Cas twitched and squirmed in frustration, begging him for more. But fantasy-Dean, unlike real Dean, _isn’t_ a horrible, oblivious tease, and no sooner would the word ‘please’ have finally escaped Cas’s mouth than fantasy-Dean would be gripping his ass and pressing his tongue forward, sliding it into Cas with firm, wet thrusts as he gradually worked it deep inside, relentless and _giving_ and so, so _good_ -

There’s a loud _thump_ from the wall adjoining Dean’s room, and Cas freezes, the tip of his middle finger just barely tucked inside himself.

And then -

Dean _groans._

Cas sucks in a breath, heart pounding, heat rushing through him.

Dean isn’t – he can’t possibly be – he must still be sore from pilates and he’s about to roll over and shout curses at Cas through the wall, because the only other explanation is -

Something knocks faintly against the wall, and then it happens again, and _again_ , an unmistakable rhythm with a small, quiet moan somewhere in the midst of it, and Cas just – doesn’t even _care_ if it’s another false alarm, because if Dean wants to complain some more about exercise he voluntarily took part in, he can wait until Cas is done getting off to the thought of Dean doing the same next door.

Cas lets out a shaky breath and slowly slides his finger in deeper, shivering as he presses it fully inside, focus split between the sounds coming from the other room and thoughts of Dean’s tongue, warm and wet as he laves against Cas’s opening and licks inside, of his hands, fingers digging into Cas’s cheeks, almost hard enough to bruise. Fantasy-Dean pulls back after a few moments, flushed beneath his freckles, eyes hooded, lips red and spit-slick, and catches Cas’s gaze.

 _Hold yourself open, Cas,_ fantasy-Dean instructs, and Cas scrambles to comply, hands brushing against Dean’s in the transition, and then Dean’s thumb is circling, Dean mouthing around it, lapping sweetly before diving back in while his thumb pulls gently at Cas’s rim all the while. Real-Dean moans again and Cas moans back and that _has_ to be the headboard, tapping eagerly against the wall and Dean sounds so _good_ and Cas swears that rhythm’s gotten faster, finds himself instinctively drawing out, easing a second finger in, desperate for more of _something,_ and then Dean groans again, rough and low, and suddenly Cas is struggling to focus on fantasy-Dean’s tongue, too busy wondering how real-Dean is touching himself, what he’s thinking about, and _please,_ God, let it be Cas.

And then the fantasy changes and Cas is by himself, practiced fingers working efficiently, opening himself up, and the door flies open and fantasy-real-Dean comes in, visibly hard underneath his sweats and green eyes wild, saying _please_ and _I want you so bad_ and Cas could never say no to that, doesn’t hesitate to slide his fingers out, to reach for Dean, to pull him down onto the bed and lay him out and tug off his sweats and slick him up and sink down on his hard, flushed cock, riding him within an inch of his life and hissing _y_ _ou have no fucking idea, Dean Winchester, you have never, ever wanted anything in your life as badly as I have wanted you, and you never, ever will,_ and Dean will hold his hands and thrust up into him, and Dean’s _still_ moaning next door, headboard loud and unabashed, and Cas has no idea what Dean’s dick is like but he knows it’s perfect and it’s going to _feel_ perfect, it’s going to feel like _victory_ and _triumph_ and never having to put up with an unsatisfying solitary orgasm again, and Dean will look him dead in the eye as he gets close, like he _knows,_ and he’ll say _all yours, Cas_ and-

And then real-Dean, through their shared, flimsy wall, starts crying out, “Cas – _Cas_ -” and _fuck,_ Cas just _comes_ , spilling onto his own stomach, fingers freezing in shock, divine pleasure ricocheting through him as his vision whites out and his lungs refuse to empty and-

“ _Cas-Cassie!_ ” Dean finally shouts.

Cas stops breathing.

Joy bleeds out of him, right along with the bulk of his vital life forces.

He lies there, chest heaving, a disconcerting blend of horror and lingering pleasure tingling across his skin, his fingers still caught halfway out of himself and the wall utterly silent across from him.

And finally, after two weeks of quarantine -

He thinks he might be ready to cry.


	7. the good friend incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: brief discussion of past relationships, fleeting reference to theoretical catboy fantasy, please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> I hope you are all doing well and staying sane ♡ Thank you very much for reading!

Clearly, confinement is getting to him.

Of course, it’s not just confinement; Dean is equally to blame, with his absurd paranoia and the fact that he seems incapable of coping with it in a way that _doesn’t_ involve manhandling Cas and thrusting his groin against Cas’s ass, but then, Cas is to blame, too. He’s indulged himself with far too many vivid fantasies of Dean, both sexual and otherwise, and now it’s causing him to have a completely unreasonable response to Dean fantasizing about his ex-girlfriend.

(Cas feels a little like he’s been cheated on.)

But past making zero commitment to him, Dean’s shown zero _interest_ in him, and for Cas to have been projecting anything to the contrary onto their distantly platonic situation -

It’s just ridiculous. In fact, Cas probably has no business calling _Dean_ insane for all his anxieties when Cas is so delusional he managed to be both surprised and _hurt_ when Dean jerked off to thoughts of someone else.

No, Cas is losing it – just like he knew he would when they told him he’d be stuck inside with Dean for two weeks, _minimum._

And since it looks like ‘two weeks’ is actually ‘indefinitely’ - well, he’s going to have to do something different.

So Cas numbly cleans himself up and puts his clothes back on, and then he shuffles out to the kitchen for a comforting cup of tea so he can figure out what that something is, but lo and behold – Dean is already there, perched stiffly at the kitchen table.

He looks up as soon as Cas enters, and instead of having the decency to avert his gaze and awkwardly pretend nothing just happened – he _keeps_ looking at Cas.

Worse, he does it _nervously,_ like there’s even something to be nervous about.

There isn’t, of course. There’s no reason to be self-conscious, or embarrassed, or at all concerned with Cas judging him for what he overheard. After all, plenty of people fantasize about their exes; _Cas_ might not, might have only realized a couple of years ago that he probably hadn’t liked his exes or the sex they had the way most people do, the way he assumed he must, but Cas is weird and his sexuality probably occupies some complicated grey space that will give him as much of a headache as articles about Covid-19 do, so he generally tries not to think about it at all.

And why would he, when his sexuality currently seems to revolve around a wholly uninterested person who _does_ like to fantasize about their exes, certainly more than they’d like to fantasize about their very interested but apparently inadequate roommate?

No, Cas thinking about his sexuality right now would just be _pointless._

He doesn’t realize he’s just standing there, possibly glowering at Dean while Dean looks increasingly uncomfortable, until Dean clears his throat.

“Uh. Hey, Cas.”

Cas takes a deep breath, forcing himself to turn toward the teakettle, moving forward as casually as he can manage.

“Hello, Dean.”

There’s a pause.

“How, uh. How’s it . . . going?”

“Fine,” Cas says shortly, carrying the kettle to the sink and turning on the tap. “How are you?”

He can _hear_ Dean swallow behind him.

“Good,” Dean says, strained. “Sorry if I was . . . you know. Uh. Loud.”

Cas tightens his grip on the kettle.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh.” Dean chuckles weakly. “Guess you were pretty preoccupied yourself.”

Cas freezes.

“Not that I was listening!” Dean adds quickly. “I was, you know – occupied. Also. Just. Thought I might have – but maybe you were doing pilates, or something, I wouldn’t know, I was – just really focused. You know?”

Cas slowly shuts off the water, wondering if this is just a stress hallucination.

At any rate, he should probably have stayed in his room and let himself comfortably dehydrate in numb humiliation.

“Yes,” he eventually says, moving back over to return it to the stand and switch it on. “I know.”

And that should be that – because Cas isa reasonable adult, and Dean owes him nothing, even if he’s the one who had the nerve to bring up their coincidental masturbation session in the first place – but in the end, he can’t help himself.

“Awes-”

“Cassie, was it?”

Dean falls silent, and Cas carefully stares at the kettle, resisting the urge to turn around and bombard him with all the irrational accusation he’s actually feeling.

“Uh. Y-yep. First love, and – and all that.”

Cas’s lungs feel strangely brittle as they try to draw in air.

He regrets asking.

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long, awkward silence.

“What about you?” Dean abruptly asks. “I know you, uh, you said you didn’t think about – people, or whatever, but – c’mon. Must’ve had some . . . greatest hits, somewhere in there.”

The kettle starts hissing, bubbles nestling along the bowl of the glass, and after a moment, Cas shrugs.

“Not really. Why else would I fantasize about what I do?”

Another silence.

“Right. Just . . . I guess – I kinda thought, you know, you’d dated, before. Like, seriously. You really never . . .?”

No. Cas really _hasn’t_ ever. The two people he’d dated were friends, and he’d liked them, and the kissing and the sex was pleasurable, and Cas thought that was that.

That that was about as simple and human as it got.

But then he moved in with Dean, and not long after that, Cas realized there was no such thing as ‘simple’ and when it came to things like this, ‘human’ just meant ‘baffling and much more complicated than you originally thought.’

Of course, sharing the details of _that_ story would not only be completely inappropriate, but would also make him feel infinitely worse.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Dean. Do you want to hear about things I did with my exes?”

“Jesus Christ, _no_!” Dean immediately exclaims, sounding horrified, and then he lets out a strange, choking noise. “Not – not that it would _bother_ me, or anything.”

Cas hunches into himself a little, confused and, honestly, still hurt.

Is that a _yes_? Is Dean hoping to segue into some mutual sharing of past sexual exploits? Gabriel is fond of such conversations, as are many men he’s met, but Cas has always felt uncomfortable with it, both on his own behalf as well as his partners’.

He’s certainly never heard _Dean_ share in earnest, nothing past some exaggerated lead-in to disturb his little brother, but – maybe this is something Dean _does_ usually do, with all his other friends, friends he can’t see right now.

Which – if that’s the case, Cas doesn’t want to let him down, but . . .

He’s not entirely sure he can stomach hearing about Dean with someone else – especially not someone Dean would still prefer to think about over Cas.

“Well, it would bother me,” he finally says. “Let’s not.”

“Right, no, definitely – definitely not,” Dean mumbles, and Cas assumes that’s that.

Until:

“Who, uh, who _was_ your first love?”

The water bubbles aggressively, steam pouring out the spout, and Cas expects the alarm to sound any moment.

“My first love,” he repeats, and the chair creaks behind him, Dean presumably resettling.

“Yeah.”

The water continues to boil violently.

“Well.” Cas takes a deep breath. “I used to think – it must be the first person I dated. Bal.”

“Smarmy British guy?”

“Not smarmy,” Cas corrects on instinct, and Dean huffs.

“So you say. Gotta be honest, though, I wasn’t sure about your taste before, but after hearing about your, uh, your wildest fantasy, there . . .”

Cas wishes he’d lied, wishes he’d invented something completely random and acceptably strange, like wearing cat ears and getting tied up with yarn while his partner scolded him for being a bad kitty.

Shame churns in his gut.

“He was not smarmy, and he’s still a very dear friend of mine. But no. I don’t think he was my first love.”

“Then wh-”

“I don’t think I’ve had one yet.”

Dean goes quiet.

A second later, the kettle sounds, shrill in the silence.

Cas fervently prays he just told the truth.

In the end, though, he can’t quite stay bitter for long.

The tea probably helps – there are few problems a good cup of tea won’t diminish – and certainly, Dean’s vaguely-guilty skulking about the kitchen goes a long way toward making Cas feel as hypersensitive and irrational as he probably is, a sense of ridiculousness that quickly translates to his _own_ sort of guilt, and by the time Cas has gotten a refill and they’ve been sitting in awkward silence for two full hours, he thinks he’s figured out the problem.

The problem – a problem that was much, much easier to ignore before he and Dean spent sixteen hours a day in the same thousand square feet of space – is that Cas has _feelings._ Ideally, they’re not actually true, first-love feelings, but even if they are – it doesn’t matter. They’re not returned, and whatever their depth or significance, they’re ultimately responsible for creating a rift between him and a very dear friend.

Because attraction and romance aside, Dean _is_ his friend. And no matter how hurt Cas feels over his lack of reciprocation, no matter how confusing Dean’s chosen methods of coping are-

That’s not an excuse to be a bad friend.

Which, if Cas really steps back, really looks at the situation from an objective perspective, one that isn’t colored by juvenile feelings or sexual frustration -

He’s being a bad friend.

Dean is – well, Dean is a warmhearted, affectionate individual, one who _is_ used to having access to many friends, as well as his family. What might feel like unwarranted physical harassment to Cas is probably just Dean sub-consciously expressing his needs, needs usually met by other people, for things he’s not used to being deprived of.

Yes, Dean might _consciously_ be trying to social distance in the apartment, to avoid all the thoughtless, casual touches they’re used to, but perhaps the manhandling and the personal conversations and that weird moment after pilates and certainly, the protracted session of foot-cuddling, are all just evidence that the isolation and lack of contact is getting to him.

And _yes_ , Cas is disappointed to know that Dean is so far from being interested that even immediately after a conversation about sexual fantasies, Dean returned to his room and didn’t spare him a second thought, but Cas’s hurt is his own fault, and he _is_ still Dean’s friend, and if he sees that a friend is suffering – well, he should help.

And because, at the end of the day, he _is_ a good friend (or at least he tries to be) -

He knows what he needs to do.

“Dean,” Cas starts, and Dean just about crawls out of his own fucking skin, so startled is he that after brooding in kind of angry-seeming silence for two hours, Cas is speaking to him again.

And sure, Dean would _like_ to think Cas is just pissed about the personal questions – because apparently, even after vigorously fucking his fist to thoughts of doing the same to Cas (but in such a way that would have Cas clinging to him and clutching at him and telling him how _good_ it felt, how he was seeing fucking _fireworks,_ how it was better than every piece of erotic fiction or fantasy in existence combined into one giant, mind-blowing sex collage) only to end up shouting the poor guy’s name through their laughably insubstantial shared wall, Dean still hadn’t learned his lesson about curiosity and why his should die a quick, painful death –

But nah, he’s pretty sure he knows better.

Shouting your roommate’s name several times before coming all over yourself, only to realize what you’ve just done, only to make a weak-ass attempt to cover it up by feebly bouncing on the bed and shouting it again followed by an ex-girlfriend’s name (even though you have never in your life referred to her by that other, shortened version), is the most obvious-fucking thing in the world.

Nope, Cas knows _exactly_ what Dean was in there jerking off to, what he’s probably _always_ in there jerking off to, and he’s – rightfully – feeling grossed out and violated.

Dean is the _worst._

He should have shoved a fucking sock in his mouth.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, trying not to sound too terrified of what’s about to follow.

(He’s pretty sure he fails.)

“I . . . I’ve been thinking,” Cas starts, and Dean closes his eyes, wishing his immune system could afford some hard liquor right now, because this is it. This is where Cas says, ‘the living situation isn’t really working out, anymore, and I think it’s best if I move in with my brother.’

He opens his mouth to protest, to assure Cas he really _was_ just thinking about Cassie, even though Cas would have to be an idiot to believe that ( like, come on, Dean’s bi, Cas is smokin’ hot, and they just swapped sexual fantasies in the kitchen before racing off to their bedrooms. Even if Dean weren’t kind of in love with the guy, what the hell _else_ would he be thinking about?) but Cas beats him to it.

“We’ve been quarantined together for a while, now. And we will be for a while yet.”

Dean hesitates.

“Okay. That – that’s true. Is that . . . is that a, uh, a problem?”

 _Are you leaving me?_ he doesn’t ask.

He’ll find out in a second, anyway.

Cas hesitates.

“Not necessarily,” he says slowly, and Dean tries not to let that little spark of hope flare up into anything he’ll regret. “Just . . . well, the reality is, if one of us had it, or if one of us somehow gets it – the other person will, as well.”

Dean blinks, utterly failing to connect the dots.

“Uh. Yeah. That – that’s probably right.”

Cas studies him for a moment, and then he nods, a rueful smile crossing his face.

“So . . . there’s no point keeping our distance from each other, Dean,” he concludes, strangely gentle. “If you need to touch me – you can do that.”

Shock rips through him, followed by a rush of heat as the words truly sink in.

“I can – touch you?” Dean repeats, too stunned to be embarrassed at the way the words come out, barely more than a croak.

Cas nods firmly.

“Yes. As much as you need to.”

Dean just sort of stares for a moment. Is this – is this a _proposition?_ Obviously, Cas knows the whole ‘Cassie’ thing was complete and utter bullshit, but – maybe he’s _not_ disgusted.

Maybe, he’s feeling hard-up, too, and now that he knows _Dean_ is into it . . .

Maybe he thinks this is the best solution for both of them.

“Uh.” Dean hesitates, struggling to process all the warring concerns and interests inside his brain. On the one hand, a part of him kind of wants to test the touching-waters _now,_ wants to join Cas on the sofa and break the no-fucking-in-the-common-area rule by mutual, awesome agreement, but on the other hand, a part of him is a little concerned by the format of this proposition.

Cas is kind of . . . well, calm, about it. And actually, he’s saying _Dean_ can touch _him –_ as much as Dean ‘needs’ to.

Like this would just be something he was doing for _Dean_.

Because Dean is clearly horny and desperate and _incredibly_ pathetic and Cas just feels that sorry for him.

“I . . . listen, Cas, that – that’s really . . .” He swallows, something kind of awful stabbing at his ribs. “Something. But – you know. If that’s not something you want, then – then I don’t really think-”

Cas quickly shakes his head.

“You misunderstand,” he says, rising from the sofa, and then he’s heading for Dean’s chair, all the way in the kitchen because Dean wasn’t brave enough to try and share the sofa, and suddenly Dean’s wondering if he _did_ misunderstand, if Cas _does_ want stuff, and maybe Dean’s still a little uncomfortable with how he’s asking for it, but – but _shit,_ it’s happening, it’s really happening, Cas is gonna kiss him, and touch him, and maybe do some other really awesome stuff and – and -

Cas comes to a stop in front of his chair, looking down at him, blue eyes intent.

“I miss my friends, too, Dean. I miss my family _._ But – _we’re_ family, in our own way. And I think this would be good for both of us.”

And then he leans down and firmly wraps his arms around Dean, all nice, solid-feeling bicep and honey tea scent and whatever indescribable, distinctly Cas smell he always has, hair soft where it brushes against Dean’s forehead, and Dean-

Well, Dean feels like a fucking idiot.

But he hugs back anyway, because he’s still not enough of an idiot to pass it up.

“Thanks, Cas,” he mumbles, trying not to feel disappointed. He had mixed feelings about the proposition, anyway. If Cas is going to come onto him, Dean wants it to be like Cas’s fantasy, wants to be the one person Cas has ever actually wanted _desperately,_ wanted with every fiber of his being.

He doesn’t want it to just be an offer of _convenience_.

(Not that he’ll ever get either one.)

Cas sighs, squeezing him a little tighter, and Dean tries not to shiver at the sensation of both.

“Of course, Dean,” he whispers. “Thank you, too.”

Dean’s heart stumbles.

It takes every piece of restraint he has not to just tug Cas into his lap and kiss him.

By day three of Cas’s touch-proposal, Dean’s pretty sure he’s in hell.

“Sam, help.”

Sam gives him an offensively pitying look, no less potent for the slight latency in their connection.

“I’m not sure I can, Dean,” he says, like the little brat has any idea what he’s about to ask.

(Dean ignores the fact that he probably does.)

“Well, try. Cas-” Dean takes a deep breath, not even sure how to explain. “Cas has instituted a – a cuddling rule.”

Sam blinks.

“A . . . cuddling rule.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause we’re in quarantine together, and we’re not gettin’ it from anybody else, so – yeah.”

“Okay. I’m . . . not really sure I follow. Is this like – a skinship thing? For emotional health?”

Dean hesitates.

“I think so? It doesn’t really matter, the point is – _I’m not feeling emotionally healthier._ ”

“Um. Can you elaborate?”

Dean sighs, burying his face in his hands for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain.

He’s not sure anyone who’s never had to live in close quarters with the love of their life while said love of their life goes about in painful obliviousness would understand.

“He – it’s just – fuck. He touches me all the goddamn time, Sammy! Breakfast? Foot hooked around mine under the table. Studying? Somebody’s feet are in somebody else’s lap, or he’s sitting criss-cross and he’s got his knee resting on one of my legs - _something_ . Lunch? Same deal as breakfast, or elbows bumping on the sofa. Evenings? That fucker outright _snuggles_ me, Sam. Puts his goddamn head on my shoulder and curls into my side like he’s a fucking cat and I’m his own personal human-shaped heating pad. Which _fine,_ maybe I'd put an arm around him, before, when we’d watch TV on the sofa, but – we eat dinner in his _bed._ We’re two seasons into a detective show and I have no idea what the fuck is happening because you know what I’m _not_ thinking about when Cas is lying half on top of me in his goddamn bed and no matter what way I turn I can _smell_ him? Murder, Sam. I don’t have a single fucking brain cell left for _murder_.”

Sam looks oddly disturbed.

“That’s . . . well, anyway. Um. Have you told him he’s making you uncomfortable?”

Dean stares.

“What? Hell no! Then he’d _stop!_ ”

“But – don’t you want him to stop?”

Dean hesitates.

“No? I don’t want _him_ to stop doing anything, exactly , it’s just – _I_ want to stop being so . . .”

Sam waits.

Dean sighs.

“Isn’t there a way I can just – enjoy cuddling, without getting all – uh. You know. Wanting . . . stuff?”

Sam looks at him for a moment, contemplative.

“So . . . what you’re saying is, you want to be less in love with him.”

Dean colors.

“I’m not . . . I’m not in _love_ with him, I’m just – uh. Attached. And – attracted.”

Which is a fucking understatement. Dean doesn’t have any brain cells left for murder, because 100-fucking-percent of his brain cells are devoted to making sure he doesn’t just roll them both over ten minutes into the first episode so he can thoroughly and enthusiastically test _exactly_ how well Cas is liking Dean’s brand of lube firsthand.

As it is, he can’t stop himself from doing a little touching back, just a casual arm around Cas, or a hand in his hair, or a thumb lightly brushing his temple, the corner of his jaw, just a _little,_ just an innocent, friendly touch, just so Cas gets something out of all of this, too.

(Dean may, in fact, be delusional.)

“I see. But – have you considered maybe asking Cas if he’s at all . . . well, attached and attracted to _you_?”

“He’s not,” Dean says promptly, trying not to sound too bitter about the fact. “He, uh. He’s never been in love, apparently. Doesn’t even think about real people while he jerks off.”

Sam screws up his face.

“Wait, he _told_ you that?”

Dean shrugs. It _was_ kind of weird – Dean can’t really remember asking for that information, but maybe he’s remembering wrong (a little bit of stress-induced brain malfunction would be understandable, given the fucking global health crisis happening) – but he and Cas _are_ close, and clearly getting closer, even if it’s just because of quarantine, so – it’s not really _that_ weird.

Is it?

“I mean. Yeah? I think – oh, right. He ran out of lube, so I gave him some of mine, and I was checking in with him, you know, making sure it was working out okay, and-”

Sam makes a small choking noise.

“You _what_?”

“What?”

“You – not only did he ask to borrow _lube_ , _you_ turned around and asked him how it _was_?”

“I – well. Yeah?”

His brother just stares at the screen for a moment.

“Either you guys are the _weirdest_ roommates ever, or you _seriously_ need to ask him if he’s into you.”

“What? No! No, that – it’s just – it was like a trust milestone, Sammy. You’ll understand when you have close friends of your own.”

“Um, yeah, actually I _do_ have close friends, and while we _have_ bonded over personal things – they weren’t _that_ kind of personal.”

“Probably because you’re all a bunch of single nerds,” Dean protests, though Sam’s kind of making him feel self-conscious. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, at the rate he’s going, I’m going to end up suffocating myself on a fucking pillow because if I _don’t_ jerk off, I’ll pop a boner while we’re snuggling and he’ll move in with Gabe, but every time I _do_ jerk off, I can’t think about anything else and I always end up saying his name.”

Sam makes a face.

“TMI, Dean.”

“Then help me, bitch.”

Sam huffs.

“Look, your problem is that you’re attracted to him, right?”

“Like you wouldn’t _believe_.”

“Okay, well, maybe stop focusing on it so much?”

Dean squints.

“Kinda hard not to, Sammy.”

“Right, but – think about what he’s doing here. He’s your friend, and he’s trying to make sure you guys both get all the – the _affection,_ that you need. Maybe instead of thinking about him sexually – focus on just . . . being affectionate?”

Dean hesitates.

“I touch him back.”

“But do you really _think_ about it? About what it represents for your friendship? Have you actually tried to look at it in terms of making sure _his_ needs get met, instead of just in terms of what you _wish_ you were getting from him?”

Which – if Dean thinks about it . . .

Sam’s right. Cas touches him, and Dean thinks about more, about what he wants that more to mean. And when _Dean_ touches _Cas,_ it’s mostly instinct, mostly Dean acting on his own whims and impulses, feeling almost like he’s getting away with stuff, instead of considering ‘is this emotionally satisfying for Cas?’

And now Dean’s on Skype complaining to his little brother about how difficult and uncomfortable it is for _him,_ when really, he _should_ be asking himself if Cas is getting all the things _he_ needs from it.

Dean swallows, suddenly dismayed.

He’s being a _terrible_ friend, and at the end of the day, that’s the most important thing about what they are to each other.

They’re friends. Even family, according to Cas. And Dean -

Dean hasn’t been acting like it.

“Son of a bitch.” He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I’m being lousy here, aren’t I?”

Sam looks a little smug.

“Well, maybe not _lousy,_ but – the phrase ‘one-track mind’ seems appropriate.”

Dean nods, a little ashamed.

“Alright. Thanks, Sammy. I’ll, uh. I’ll work on that, I guess. I appreciate it.”

Sam nods.

“Good luck.”

Which, luck is all good and well – and frequently the deciding factor in how well shit goes for you, actually – but if there’s one thing Dean’s learned in life?

You still can’t get anywhere without some good old-fashioned _effort._

“Cas,” Dean says softly, and Cas is loath to look up, to displace himself in any way from his incredibly comfortable position, snuggled up against Dean’s chest, one of Dean’s arms wrapped loosely around him.

This was the best, most horrible idea he’s ever had.

“Mm?” he mumbles, forcing himself to fully open his eyes and lift his head. Dean is close, breath a soft, warm puff against Cas’s cheek, and Cas supposes this is as good a way to die as any.

Slowly incinerated in a delicious hell of his own making.

Dean just blinks his pretty green eyes down at him.

“How, uh. How do you like to be . . . touched?”

 _By you,_ Cas nearly says, but then awareness catches up and he stiffens, pulling away slightly.

“Uh. What do you mean?”

Dean, oblivious soul that he is, is probably not asking what Cas thinks he’s asking, so Cas doesn’t need to tell him _I don’t really know_ or beg him _p_ _lease help me figure it out_ or anything else of the sort.

“Like, uh. You – you’ve been really good, taking care of me, and you always – you let me put my arm around you, and you keep close, like this, which is – uh, really nice, but – I just wanna make sure you – you know. That you get what you need from me, too.”

“Oh.” Cas swallows, unsure.

Disentangling _want_ from _need_ is surprisingly difficult, especially half-lying down with Dean, tucked together in a partial embrace of sorts, Dean looking so open and sweet Cas could almost convince himself Dean _would_ give him whatever it was he asked, even if that something was _please kiss me and make love to me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear and then, after we’ve snuggled for an hour or so afterward and mutually declared our heartfelt feelings, please pin me to the mattress and fuck me so hard I couldn’t leave the apartment for a week even if I was allowed to._

Cas, however, _is_ a good friend, and he’s not going to ask for that.

“I . . . I like this. Being, um. Being close.” He clears his throat, wondering how honest it’s safe to be. But Dean _did_ ask, and even if Cas has been trying to be generous with hugs and the sort of cuddles they used to share, Dean’s the one who brought _hands_ into the mix. “I like when you touch my face. I, um, I really like when you – when you pet my hair.”

Dean looks surprised, but almost – _pleased,_ Cas thinks.

“Oh. Yeah?”

Cas nods, emboldened by this response.

And even though he’s not going to ask for that one thing – which was technically several things, anyway – he’s resigned himself to his fate, which is death by pining and sexual frustration.

Dean will struggle, alone in this apartment and probably still oblivious to what exactly did Cas in, possibly even afraid it was some fast-acting case of Covid, but Cas supposes it’s for the best.

He takes a deep breath.

“And – actually, I like, um. I like having my hip stroked.”

Dean swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“Oh. Uh. Like . . . how?”

Cas hesitates.

Then he reaches for Dean’s free arm, tugging it toward him and letting his grip slide down to Dean’s hand. He pauses for a moment, wondering if he’s really this opportunistic, or masochistic, or both, and then he decides to hell with it.

“Like this,” he says, and he tucks Dean’s hand beneath his t-shirt, letting it rest halfway on the waistband of his pants. Dean inhales, startled, but Cas carefully proceeds, letting go to tug said waistband down a little. “Just – with your thumb.”

“Oh.” After a beat, Dean sort of looks down, brow creasing, and then-

Dean’s thumb starts dragging warmly over the skin, right across the bone, and Cas tries not to melt.

Dean’s gaze flicks back to his, unsure.

“Like this?” he asks, barely more than a whisper, and Cas nods, not trusting himself to make any noise.

It feels _divine._ It feels like what a person (Dean) does before they gently start mouthing at another person’s (Cas’s) neck, a wonderful sign that the Chill portion of Netflix and Chill is about to commence, and that the show can hope for no more than ten more minutes of tantalizing foreplay cuddles before a foot slams the laptop shut and the first person rolls the second person onto their back for hot, playful kisses, laughing breathlessly all the while, at least until the second person shuts them up with slightly less playful kisses and some unmistakably pointed hip thrusting and then-

“Still okay?”

Cas swallows, taking a deep breath, heart pounding in his chest.

Never again is Cas allowed to complain about Dean teasing him, because clearly, left to his own devices, Cas will do it his goddamn self.

“Y-yes,” he manages, shifting slightly, and that thumb stutters, briefly pressing down. It’s a struggle not to just close his eyes, to turn into Dean even more, to invite that hand to slip around and stroke his ass instead, Dean murmuring into his ear while Cas helplessly ruts against his hip.

Cas loses half the battle, and shuts his eyes.

“Feels, um, feels really good, Dean. Please keep going.”

Dean inhales sharply.

“Uh. Y-yeah. Sure. Okay. Sure,” he says again, and then, after another moment, that digit still gliding warmly over Cas’s skin, the arm around his shoulders tenses, and suddenly, Dean’s other hand is in his hair.

Cas bites back a sob.

 _Best, most horrible plan ever,_ he thinks again.

“Should I, um, should I play the show?” Dean asks, just as Cas is trying not wonder what else this apparently fantastic coordination might be applied to, and Cas blinks his eyes open, startled.

Sure enough, the laptop screen is frozen, only silence coming from the speakers.

Cas hadn’t even realized Dean had paused it.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, you – you should.”

Dean nods, and Cas nearly whines when he takes away the hand on his hip.

But then he leans forward, bringing Cas with him, the motion forcing Cas to curl more tightly into him, and as soon as the show is playing and they’ve settled back, that thumb lands right back on his hip.

So – yes, Cas is going to die, possibly even tonight.

Still. He’s going to die very, very happy.


	8. interlude #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: all sex acts in fantasy, bottom!cas, reference to Cas’s hands being tied, blowjobs, bible reference (Jacob and Rachel), gross amounts of cuddling, depictions of exercise, references to body insecurity (the pie-top), some anxiety (Cas), please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Again, [POP Pilates](https://www.youtube.com/user/blogilates) is real and a potentially great resource, depending on your preferred method of exercise (sorry, I feel like if I’m going to call her Satan in a chapter I should link to her YouTube channel)! Enjoy!
> 
> I hope you're all doing well and staying safe ♡♡ Sorry about the wait, and thank you for reading!!

Sam gives the best, most horrible advice ever.

“Good morning,” Cas murmurs, ducking under the arm holding the cabinet door open and pausing briefly to press into Dean’s side.

Dean’s been standing still, trying to pick a coffee mug, and he nearly stumbles anyway when dark, sleep-mussed hair brushes his chin.

 _Why are we not in bed cuddling???_ all of his instincts seem to perk up and demand, because Cas is clearly solid and warm and maybe a little bit soft, too, and jesus _c_ _hrist_ does he feel good to cuddle with; but even if Dean got away with it last night, with caressing Cas’s hip and tangling his fingers through his hair until Cas straight up fell asleep with Dean touching him, somehow _that_ comfortable and trusting, like the whole, confusing snuggling deal wasn’t making Dean constantly torn between wanting to marry him and secure snuggles for life and also tearing off his clothes and pinning him to the mattress and doing his absolute damndest to sweeten the snuggles-for-life proposal in whatever way necessary to make sure Cas _accepted_ it – cuddling in bed in the _morning_ would be crossing a line.

Wouldn’t it?

Cas pauses at the counter, then abruptly circles back, slipping an arm around Dean’s waist and reaching into the cupboard to pull out a batman mug.

“You seem tired,” he says softly, hand warm against Dean’s back, and for a second, Dean’s frozen, still staring at the array in the cabinet, trying to explain to his lesser instincts why the best part of waking up is _not_ hoisting your roommate onto the counter and fucking him hard and fast until he needs that hot beverage for throat-soothing properties instead of caffeine (on account of all the screaming in ecstasy he’ll be doing) – but eventually, he shakes himself, shutting the cupboard and reaching for the mug.

“Yeah. Little bit.” He smiles gratefully, doing his best not to displace that fucking hand, and when Cas just sort of smiles back, eyes warm, all the dirty fantasies dissolve into wholesome, embarrassing thoughts of dropping a kiss to Cas’s forehead or mock-chasing him away with morning breath until they end up in a cuddle-heap on the sofa.

So, yeah. Best, most horrible advice ever.

“You, uh. You gonna get one for you?”

Cas blinks, then starts a little, hand dropping.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” He turns, shoulder brushing Dean’s chest as he reopens the cabinet and reaches in for a bumblebee mug. “Did you . . . sleep well?”

 _No._ Dean lied awake, listening to Cas breathe – _feeling_ Cas breathe – until he dozed off around one AM, and then when he woke up at four with Cas’s face in his neck and his hands underneath his shirt and their legs a sweaty, tangled mess, Dean hard in his pants, he gingerly extricated himself and went back to his own room to jerk off and go to bed.

“Yup, headed back to my room after you dropped off,” he lies, and he’s honestly not sure if that’s relief or disappointment on Cas’s face.

“Oh. I apologize.”

“No problem.”

“Just . . . what you were doing to me felt very good. It’s no wonder.”

Dean hastily turns away, closing his eyes and counting.

He’d like to do a _lot_ of things to Cas that would make him feel ‘very good,’ and it’s just cruel of the guy to keep suggesting he _is_ in that stupid, perpetual sex voice he has.

“Dean?”

Dean lets out a quiet breath.

“Well, I’m always happy to make you feel good,” he offers, and there’s a brief silence behind him.

“Thank you,” Cas eventually says. “I . . . I admit, I worried about it. Asking for that. It, um. I’d understand if it was too . . . uh. Intimate.”

Clearly, Cas is going to be the death of him.

Dean sets his mug down next to the coffee pot, throwing a smile over his shoulder and hoping it comes out bland and friendly instead of like a set of teeth that want nothing more than to tear the shirt right off Cas’s back, here and now.

“Nah, we’re good. Ask for whatever you want, Cas,” he adds, congratulating himself on his smooth nonchalance. “Trust me, I’ll give it to you.”

Cas blinks.

His tongue briefly slips out, wetting his lips.

“Oh. Will you?”

Internally, Dean laughs. Cas has no fucking _idea._

“Sure. You name it.” He turns back to the coffee pot, trying not to torment himself with all the things he knows Cas would never even think of naming.

There’s a long pause, and then Cas takes a deep breath.

“I see. Thank you, Dean.”

And then he shuffles over to the teakettle, flicks the switch on, and for a while, no more is said.

Dean’s reading the news, and it’s making Cas anxious.

He’s not reading it out _loud,_ but his shoulders are doing The Thing and his worried brow looks like it’s about to get stuck that way, and if he chews at his lip any harder there will be nothing left for Cas to fantasize about.

“Maybe we should play some cartoons,” Cas suggests.

Dean doesn’t even move, finger still slowly scrolling, and Cas takes a deep, calming breath.

Cas reads the news; Dean is allowed to, too, and probably should, even if it just feeds into his paranoia and general agitation. It’s not like he spends all day browsing for every little update, or anything.

Still.

Just watching him makes Cas feel like he’s about to crawl out of his own skin.

“We could play some _Cards Against Humanity_ , today.”

Nothing.

“Of course, we should probably study, too.”

Dean’s brow dips even further, and then he clicks on something.

“We could also go back to bed and snuggle,” he tries feebly, and he’s only half-kidding, because hiding under the soft duvet, wrapped tight around Dean’s wonderful heat, sounds unbearably appealing right now.

Still, Dean just keeps scrolling, lip slipping free of his teeth and turning down at the corner.

 _You could_ _tie me to my headboard and fuck me till I came on your cock,_ Cas nearly offers, since Dean is clearly lost to the terrifying world of pandemic tracking and Cas is feeling unexpectedly hysterical at the sight of his troubled gaze, eerie in the backlight as he scrolls through _The Guardian_ , but it would be just his luck for Dean to notice _that_ one.

(And then return a firm, resounding _no._ )

“I’ll be in my room working, then,” he mumbles, and after a full minute of zero acknowledgment from Dean, Cas takes a deep breath, splashes a little more hot water in his tea, and heads for his room.

He comes out two hours later, considerably calmer but still a little worried he’ll find Dean silently screaming into his laptop screen, and is relieved when an unfamiliar buzzing sound greets him instead.

Curious, he wanders into the living area, surprised to find Dean at the table with a sewing machine, a variety of colorfully printed cloth stacked haphazardly around it.

Dean looks up when he enters, pausing to offer him a small smile.

“Hey, Cas. How’s it going?”

“Good, thank you. What are you doing?”

Dean ducks his head again, fingers carefully holding the fabric in place.

“Makin’ masks. They’re not taking homemade stuff where we are, yet, but you and I should have some, and it won’t hurt to have a bit of a stockpile in case they start.”

The buzzing starts anew, and Cas feels a little guilty. He very diligently looks at the news each morning, too, because it’s just responsible to stay apprised, but it usually ends with him closing his tabs and numbly drinking his tea, trying not to feel helpless.

“That’s very admirable, Dean,” he says softly, then clears his throat. “Though – I trust you made sure to disinfect everything, first? Since you’re so concerned about packages coming.”

Dean just gives him a Look.

“ _Yes,_ Cas, I was careful. And no, I don’t think we should risk ordering a bunch of stuff, but this is kind of a necessity.”

“Fair,” he concedes. He tilts his head, watching Dean reposition the fabric alongside the needle. “I, um. I didn’t know you had a sewing machine. Or that you sewed.”

Dean grins.

“Yeah? Well, I do. I cook, I clean, I sew – I’m the whole package.” He chuckles. “Bet you can’t wait to put a ring on this.”

Dean has _no_ idea, but anyway, such abilities are the least of what he has to offer.

“You’re ridiculous,” is all he says, and Dean pauses, giving him a hurt look.

“Oh, I get it. It’s the pie-top, huh? You’re scared it’ll get worse as soon as I think I’ve got you on lock, aren’t you?”

Cas frowns at him.

“Don’t blaspheme in the apartment.”

Dean looks startled.

Then he snorts.

“Right, I forgot. You’re all about the self-esteem.”

“No, I’m all about objective _reality_. Though, if _you_ have low self-esteem, then the rest of us will have to hate ourselves.”

Dean shakes his head, but Cas swears he sees a smile as Dean leans back over the sewing machine, foot shifting over the peddle.

“Don’t bother, Cas. I already decided I’m saving myself for the wedding night.” He glances up briefly, winking. “Better get that ring ready.”

Which, if Cas thought purchasing an overpriced piece of jewelry would guarantee him even _one_ night with Dean, he wouldn’t care how long he had to wait, even if it turned out to be some shady fourteen-year-long work deal involving an initial marriage to Sam.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs, but Dean already has the machine going again, and he decides it’s just as well.

Still. He can’t resist taking a seat across from him at the table, examining the bits and pieces of fabric piled on the surface.

He’s particularly curious about the one on _top._

“Bumblebees?” he asks, when Dean pauses, and Dean smirks.

“I figured I’d make sure you actually wore yours.”

Cas rolls his eyes, though he’s incredibly pleased that Dean thought of him. The print is _adorable,_ cartoon bumblebees with big white wings zipping across blue skies in an irresistibly cheery pattern.

“It’s really cute,” he admits, and Dean grins.

“So are-” he starts, and then his grin slips, and he coughs. “So are the rest of them. The, uh, the website had a lot of fun stuff. There’s some Yoda in there, too.”

Cas hums.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Uh . . . sure, actually. How are you with a pair of scissors?”

“I’ve worked with a pattern, before.”

Dean flashes a smile.

“Well, if you really want to . . .”

Cas smiles back, picks up the scissors, and gets to work.

Dean groans, arching deliberately, and Cas nearly slices into his own finger, so distracted by the sight and sound is he.

“Son of a _bitch._. These chairs were not designed for this, that’s for-fucking-sure.”

“Indeed not,” Cas manages, turning his attention back to the cloth he’s cutting, where it _should_ be. “Need a break?”

“Yeah, maybe we should be done for today.” Dean grimaces, stretching from side-to-side a little. “Christ. I’m gonna be stiff for days.”

Cas immediately stills, though he keeps his eyes on the scissors, not wanting to betray his excitement.

“Well . . . you don’t _have_ to be.”

“Uh. Okay?”

Cas shrugs, carefully making his last cut.

“Exercise would help.”

There’s silence, and then a huff.

“You want me to do more pilates, don’t you?” Dean grumbles, and Cas tries not to smile.

“I was just offering.”

“Don’t you usually do that with your sister?”

Cas hesitates.

“Yes, but she’s on a yoga kick. Quarantine stress,” he adds, and Dean snorts.

“I know the feeling,” he mutters, and then sighs. “Honestly, buddy, I don’t know if I have it in me.”

“Come on,” Cas coaxes. “You’ll feel better, afterward.”

“ _Will_ I?”

“Yes. I can tell just from looking at you that you spent several hours hunched over something. It’s, um, best to work out that kind of tension.”

“Right, but dude. I’m still sore from the _last_ time.”

Cas gives him a startled look.

“Still?”

He gets an unimpressed glare in return.

“Yes, _still._ Sorry if my ass can’t take as much as yours can, jeez.”

Cas snorts.

“Good thing I don’t need it to,” he quips, not thinking, and Dean’s expression turns confused.

“Huh?”

Cas clears his throat.

“I mean – we’ll work something different, of course. Maybe – arms.”

If he can get Dean to take his shirt off again, Cas very much likes the idea of watching the steady flex of those gorgeous biceps while Dean gasps and pants his way through push-ups, bracing himself against the mat and rhythmically lowering himself towards it, again and again, sweat dripping down his brow with each firm press toward the incredibly lucky mat underneath hi-

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s try that.”

Cas takes a deep breath and nods.

“Alright. Sounds good. I’ll get ready.”

He hastens to his room, though he’s in no particular hurry as he dresses and pulls out the mats, extremely conscious of the fact that Dean, also, needs to get ready, and when he goes to do so-

“Cas?” Dean calls, and Cas pauses, just about to roll out the second one.

“Yes?”

“Uh. Have you seen any of my sweats?”

Cas nudges it forward, carefully smoothing it the rest of the way.

“No.” He clears his throat. “I think they’re all in the wash.”

There’s a pause, and then footsteps, after which Dean appears in the doorway, looking incredulous.

“Seriously? _All_ of them?”

Cas settles back on his heels, shrugging.

“We’ve been in quarantine for two weeks, Dean.”

“Yeah, but – I swear I had more clean ones.”

He did. Cas went and hid them in the hamper last time Dean was in the shower.

He tries his best to look sympathetic.

“Well . . . you can borrow a pair of my shorts.”

Dean tenses.

“Uh . . . I don’t know if that’s really . . .”

“It’s just us here, Dean,” Cas assures him, then adds softly, “You know I don’t mind.”

Dean just looks at him for a long moment, and Cas looks back, even, hoping the sincerity comes through.

Eventually, Dean nods.

“Christ. Okay. Hit me up.”

Cas gets to his feet, heading for his dresser and bending to rifle through the bottom like he doesn’t know _exactly_ which pair he wants Dean in and where to find them.

“These should do,” he says, as casually as he can manage, and straightens, turning.

For some reason, Dean flinches, crossing his arms as his gaze quickly flies to Cas’s.

“Yeah, sure, whatever’s fine,” he agrees, a little strained, but Cas dismisses it.

Obviously, Dean is embarrassed about the shorts, but it _is_ just them – thank God – and since Cas absolutely doesn’t mind, the unfamiliar workout should distract him soon enough.

He tosses the pair of red athletic shorts over, trying not to look too pleased with himself.

“Let me know if they don’t fit,” he reluctantly offers, though he’s hoping they will. Dean has a bigger frame and is thicker through the waist, but Cas’s thighs are rather massive, and even if the perfectly lovely pie-top makes itself known against Dean’s wishes, Cas has been looking forward to this since he first thought of it after the butt-blasting round of pilates.

Dean’s lips quirk.

“I’m not gonna think _any_ of them fit, but okay,” he says, and then he’s pushing away from the door and heading back to his room, leaving Cas to wait impatiently and try not to pout.

They’re both men; Dean could have just changed in _here,_ he reasons, but – whatever makes him comfortable.

Anyway, Cas becomes less impatient as the minutes pass, and more _concerned._

By minute eight, he’s starting to wonder if there’s a serious problem.

“Dean?” he calls, and it takes so long for him to respond Cas has already stood up and moved toward the door.

“Yeah – sorry, coming.”

He relaxes slightly, and a few seconds later, he hears Dean’s bedroom door open.

And despite his lingering worry – he can’t help it.

He feels a little giddy with anticipation.

The footsteps come to a halt outside the door, Dean’s shadow falling over the entrance, and then -

Several more seconds pass, Dean apparently content to hover.

Cas nearly groans with frustration.

“Dean,” he starts, trying not to sound too stern. “I’m sure they look-” _magnificent_ “-fine.”

He hears Dean huff.

“They really don’t,” he mutters. “Remind me to do laundry when we’re done, here.”

And before Cas can respond to _that-_

Dean grudgingly shuffles inside, bare legs on full display, tight red spandex fitted with breathtaking snugness to his butt and thighs and hips and an incredibly interesting bulge somewhere in between. The pie-top Cas is irrepressibly fond of is, disappointingly, hidden beneath the shirt, but is no doubt waiting for his eager discovery once they’ve gotten started and the shirt (hopefully) goes the way of things.

Good _God,_ Cas thinks, staring dumbly. He was a _fool._

Because Cas has no desire to get on the mat and listen to Cassey Ho tell him what to do, not when he could be listening to _Dean_ tell him what to do, could be on his knees peeling back the tight waistband of the shorts, pulling out Dean’s cock and letting his hands grip those glorious thighs for support while he got him hard, Dean stroking through his hair and petting his cheek before gently tugging Cas forward, making him take it deeper, a heavy, perfect weight on his tongue and pressing against the back of his throat while Dean moaned helplessly above him-

“They look stupid as fuck, I know,” Dean grumbles. “If you laugh at me, I’m doing three hours of this and I’m making you do it with me.”

For a moment, Cas can’t even speak, and Dean’s grumpy look starts to turn uneasy.

“Why would I laugh?’ he finally manages, discreetly tugging his tank down, willing himself not to get hard. “You look perfect.”

Dean blinks.

Cas tries and fails to come up with some sort of platonic save, and ultimately just drops to his knees, ready to crawl over and get the laptop set up while Dean hopefully just writes that off as just another awkward Cas-thing.

Dean makes a strangled noise and stumbles back.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Cas freezes, glancing up at him, startled.

“Getting the video set up?”

Dean visibly swallows.

“Oh.” He gives a jerky nod, shifting a little. Cas thinks he looks a little red, although that’s probably just from his discomfort over the shorts. “Right. ‘Course.”

Cas just nods, sparing one last, lingering glance for the shorts, and then reaches for his computer.

“Jesus _Christ,_ this is not going to make me less stiff.” Dean pushes up off the mat again, groaning. “M’back is fuckin’ _killing_ me.”

Cas licks his lips, only halfheartedly lowering himself, since the further he goes down, the harder it is to steal glances at Dean.

The t-shirt got thrown off after video two, this time, and the pie-top is just as tantalizing and perfect as Cas knew it would be.

He wants to lay Dean out on the mat and fucking _worship_ it.

“Tighten your line,” Cas offers, pulling himself up again.

“What line?” Dean snaps, gritting his teeth.

He is, indeed, dripping all over the mat.

Cas wishes Dean were dripping all over him, instead.

“You’re bowing your spine.”

Dean huffs.

“No, I’m not.”

Cas hesitates.

He shouldn’t.

He really, _really_ shouldn’t _._

He sits back on his knees, reaching over with a calm he doesn’t feel, and firmly lays a hand against the small of Dean’s back.

Dean makes a choked noise and collapses onto his elbows, and though Cas winces on his behalf, he can’t quite bring himself to move his hand, especially since the motion has caused it to slide down, just barely cupping the beginning swell of his firm, stupidly gorgeous ass.

Cas tries not to think about how it would feel clutched under _both_ his hands, flexing beneath his grip with every sharp thrust forward, Cas frantically pulling Dean into him in an effort to make him do it harder, _faster_ -

“Cas?” Dean asks, shifting his head to the side, and at last, Cas yanks his hand back.

“Sorry. Just – you were. Bowing.”

Dean gives him a suspicious look, and Cas tries to look back as innocently as he can manage.

“Fine,” he mutters, pushing himself up again. “Probably ‘cause I’m _tired._ But take it back, I wanna do the rest.”

Cas obliges, tapping the arrow key on the video and repositioning himself on his own mat.

“You’re, um, you’re doing very well, though.”

Dean grunts.

“Still can’t keep up with you.”

“We’ll work on it.”

Dean’s quiet for a minute, panting his way through the last few, and when the timer goes off, he collapses back onto his mat with a sigh.

“Seriously? You want me to do this on a regular basis?”

Cas sits up a little, angling toward Dean and discreetly admiring the rapid rise and fall of that firm, glistening chest.

“Why not? It’s not like you can go to a gym, and it looks like we’ll be doing this for a while. I’m not sure what else we can do for exercise.”

Dean quiets a little at that, gaze slanting toward Cas in a way that makes his stomach do strange things.

“True,” is all he ends up saying. “I still think you’re just a sadist, but yeah, alright. Challenge accepted.”

“Not a challenge,” Cas corrects, though he’s already thinking of the various calamities which might befall Dean’s collection of sweat pants. “An invitation.”

Dean huffs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“You need to come up with better invitations, man.”

Cas smiles slightly, though Dean can’t see him.

There’s a _lot_ of invitations he could make, if only Dean were interested in accepting them.

“Well, Dean. How would you like to take a break from arms and do an ab video, instead?”

Dean groans.

“You’re a dick,” he says, but he’s already rolling over, sitting up with a wry smile. “Alright. Show me what you got.”

Cas beams back, and goes to queue the video.

The bouncy pilates lady with the secret wolverine body continues to be Satan, but honestly, Cas isn’t much better.

Because even though Cas pronounces them done after a mere forty minutes of torture, Dean nonetheless soaked with sweat and feeling like his chest is on fire, Cas also stripped out of his loose tank at some point, revealing even further toned perfection (no fucking surprise there) and subjected Dean to one final ab-video sendoff that involved Dean having to try not to watch Cas alternately bend his legs, powerful thighs pulling back as he curled his head toward his knees.

And now Cas’s chest is slick with sweat and his cheeks are flushed and his hair is a wreck and all he’s wearing is a barely-there scrap of sport fabric that makes no secret of that divine, plush, _perfect_ ass, and all Dean wants to do is roll over and round out their workout with some good-old fashioned sexy wrestling that ends with Cas pinned and clawing at the mat while Dean pounds him into it, itty-bitty shorts nowhere to be found.

The best kind of wrestling is where everybody wins, after all.

Except _Cas_ probably wouldn’t consider that a win, so Dean shoves the thought aside and settles for rolling over and pinning Cas to the mat in a playful, _friendly_ way instead.

Because even if Cas _doesn’t_ want to finish his workout with Dean’s dick in his ass, he’s been really proactive about this whole quarantine-cuddling regimen, and though a part of Dean is slowly going insane from the constant contact, he’s not about to let his buddy down.

Cas sucks in a breath, and then arches a brow at him.

“I wasn’t going to fight you for the shower,” he points out, and Dean chuckles, shifting to one elbow so he can push the curling strands of hair off Cas’s forehead.

“You’re gonna break out.”

“My forehead never breaks out,” Cas insists, shifting a little. The move brings one damp thigh flush against Dean’s, warm and sticking a little from the sweat, but Dean doesn’t really mind.

Sure, no amount of jerking off seems to make him any less hyperaware of any and all contact with Cas, but – Cas wasn’t wrong. The cuddling _is_ comforting, and even if a happy ending for his perpetually wayward dick is out of the question, Dean _likes_ touching Cas. He likes Cas’s skin on his skin, sweaty or dry or soft from that honey vanilla lotion he keeps on his nightstand table, and he likes feeling Cas warm through his t-shirt and hoodie, tucked up against him, and he likes how Cas’s hair feels, how it feels to have Cas lean into it every time Dean’s hands so much as brush his head.

Being with Cas, being _close_ with Cas -

It just feels _good_.

And even if it _is_ driving him a little crazy? Dean’s not sure he could really stop, at this point.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he points out, and Cas blinks up at him for a moment, then sighs.

“If only,” he murmurs, and Dean tilts his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas shrugs.

And then he lifts his hand, lightly brushing the band of Dean’s stupid, way-too-small shorts with his thumb.

“You looked very good, for the record. If you ever wanted to wear them out.”

Dean makes a face, elbowing Cas’s hand away, self-conscious.

“Pretty sure this falls under the category of ‘public indecency,’ Cas, but thanks. You’re a good friend.”

Cas shakes his head, settling back.

“I’m not. I’m being honest.”

“Nah, you’re definitely a good friend,” Dean insists, and then grins. “Good friends _stick_ _together_ , after all.”

Cas blinks up at him, confused.

And then he rolls his eyes.

“You’re very funny,” he says dryly, and then their legs are unsticking, Cas’s sliding against his as it bends.

And then he hooks his thigh around Dean’s, tightening, and Dean is so startled by that and the sudden press of Cas’s groin against his that he genuinely stops breathing, barely keeping himself balanced.

Of course, it doesn’t matter, because in the next moment, Cas is rolling them, bracing a palm against Dean’s chest with a smile as his ass settles right there in the vee of Dean’s hips.

“But I think I _will_ fight you for the shower, after all,” he adds, that stupid, dorky, _adorable_ grin on his face, and then he’s pushing off and making a beeline for the door, and Dean-

Dean doesn’t even fucking _bother_.

“-going _insane,_ Charlie.”

Cas pauses in the doorway of the bathroom, lowering the towel from his head.

“Yeah, I don’t _care_ if it’s TMI. I spent forty-five fucking minutes listening to you talk about how good that fairy from the last Moondoor campaign smelled, you can suck it up and listen to me.”

Cas smothers a laugh in his hand, leaning against the door jamb to listen.

He feels a _little_ bad about eavesdropping, but since Dean’s out in the living room and he talks on the phone to Charlie in front of Cas all the time, he figures it’s probably not an issue.

But then Dean makes a choked noise, and:

“Dude, _no._ I’m not going to hit Cas up for sex. Not in a million fucking years.”

Cas’s stomach drops.

“Oh, for the love of – don’t be gross, Charlie.” A pause. “I did _not_ start it, I was just-”

Cas quickly ducks across the hall and into his room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

It’s probably better if he doesn’t hear the rest.

Anyway, it’s hardly a surprise, even if it stings – Cas isn’t sure there will ever come a day when such things don’t – but more than that, it’s not a big deal.

Dean seems happy to cuddle on the sofa and sit in bed with him, petting his hair and stroking his hip, and he seems happy to playfully snuggle in after a hard workout, too (even if Cas had to cut said snuggle short before he embarrassed himself), and just this morning, he assured Cas that he could ask for whatever he wanted.

And yes, certain exclusions were implicit in the offer, but – they’re close. Closer than they ever have been, Cas thinks. Dean is – he’s _comfortable_ with him. He even wore the tiny red shorts, despite his insecurities.

The truth is, sex isn’t really that important, even if it seems to be all Cas can think about these days, like his brain is making up for a largely unconcerned adolescence.

They’re together, Dean’s anxiety seems stable, and Cas gets more cuddles than he ever would have thought to dream of, and things are really _good,_ right now.

Sex – well, it just doesn’t matter.

Cas slips into bed, slowly pulling the blanket over his lap and reaching for his computer.

But even though he logs in and clicks over to the fluffier section of the news, he can’t bring himself to focus.

Because _no_ , sex isn’t important, but – it’s clear what that conversation with Charlie was about.

It was about things Dean wants, things he’s used to getting (though he’s a considerate enough roommate Cas couldn’t even tell you when he had been getting it), things he draws the line at asking for from Cas.

And it’s just reminded Cas that, as nice as things are, as wonderfully close as they _feel_ -

It’s ultimately just a product of quarantine.

When all the madness ends, and people can go outside again, and Dean can visit home and his friends and spend nights out at the bars – Dean probably won’t even want to _cuddle_ with him, not the way they do now, because he’ll have other people.

All the things Cas has spent the last several days enjoying – he gets them because Dean literally _can’t_ share them with someone else, so he’s settling for Cas.

And that – that’s fine, Cas is glad to be a good friend to him, glad to be able to help him cope when he’s so clearly struggling, but -

But it’s making him realize that Dean probably _is_ his best friend, that with his siblings so far away and his own odd personality, he didn’t really get enough snuggles _before_ quarantine started, and when this is finally over, when all is said and done-

Cas is going to be all by himself.

He stares at his laptop, lost to unhappy thoughts, and only when he hears the shower turn on does he shake himself free and firmly click on a feel-good article about pandas.

Like all the other things beyond his control right now-

He’ll worry about it later.

In the end, though, he’s still feeling uncertain and a little anxious, and even once they’ve had dinner and Dean has indulgently caressed him into sleepy, boneless bliss for the second night in a row, Cas is still unsettled.

And when Dean carefully extricates himself, shutting the lid to the laptop-

Cas reaches out, grasping his hand.

Dean turns back, surprised.

“Hey. Thought you were fallin’ asleep on me.” He smiles slightly. “Literally.”

Cas manages a small smile back.

“Sorry.”

“’S’okay. I know, I’m comfortable. Add it to the list, for when you’re pickin’ out that ring,” he jokes.

Cas hesitates.

“Will you stay?” he blurts out, and Dean’s smile slips.

“Uh. Sure. You want another episode?”

Cas swallows, instinctively tightening his grip on Dean’s hand.

“No. I mean – if _you_ do, though I think I’m ready to sleep, but – I meant, in here. Tonight. If you don’t mind.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks, and then he quickly shakes his head. “No, of course not. Whatever you need.”

The ache in Cas’s chest eases slightly.

“Thank you.”

“Sure. But – are you, uh, are you okay?”

Cas hesitates.

Then he looks down, shaking his head slightly.

Dean is quiet for a moment.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Cas quickly shakes his head again.

“I understand if you change your mi-” he starts, but Dean squeezes his hand.

“No, I’m good. Lemme just put the laptop up and, uh. I’ll get the light.”

Cas nods.

“Alright. Thank you,” he says again, and gets another hand-squeeze for his efforts.

“No problem at all, man.”

Dean lets him go, slipping off the bed and retrieving the laptop so he can lean it against the other nightstand. Cas flicks on the lamp while he heads for the light switch, and once Dean’s returned, crawling back into bed, Cas catches his eye.

“Is it alright if I turn it off?”

“Go for it.”

Cas switches it off and settles in, listening to the rustle of Dean doing the same across from him.

In the dark, their breathing seems louder, somehow, and Cas waits for his eyes to adjust, not quite ready to try going to sleep.

After a moment, Dean shifts.

“What do you need, Cas?” he asks quietly, and Cas is surprised to realize he was hoping for that.

After a beat, he slides over, toward the center, tentatively reaching out.

Dean meets him halfway.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging Cas in even further, and once he’s maneuvered Cas into his arms, curled toward each other like two quote marks, knees brushing and Cas’s head tucked beneath Dean’s chin, he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cas whispers back. “It’s just – it’s one of those nights.”

He feels Dean nod, and then there’s a hand, gently carding through his hair, just the way Cas likes.

“Yeah. I get them, too.” Dean sniffs. “Thanks for, uh. Asking.”

Cas knows what he means.

“Thank you for being here.”

“Of course, Cas.”

Cas hesitates.

“I-” he starts, strangely nervous and bold all at once, with the pair of them blindly fit together, “I, um. I love your pie-top.”

Dean’s soft, even breaths stop, the hand in Cas’s hair going still.

“And – your skills are impressive – you, um, you’re a wonderful cook, and I can never get the stove as clean as you do, and I thought your masks turned out remarkably neat and – all the other things, but – mostly, I love that you use them to do things for other people.”

Dean slowly exhales.

“Oh.”

“I just, um. I love what a good person you are,” Cas concludes softly, because he can’t say what he really wants to say, which he thinks might just be _I love you._ “Thank you – thank you for being my friend.”

He can hear Dean swallow, feel him shift slightly.

And then-

Cas swears he feels his lips, soft and sweet, press against the top of Cas’s head.

“You, too, Cas,” Dean says quietly. “You’re, uh. The best friend a guy could ask for.”

Cas nods, careful not to displace Dean in the process, and reaches out, gently settling his hand on Dean’s waist.

Dean doesn’t shake it off.

“I hope so,” Cas whispers, and at last, closes his eyes. “Good night, Dean.”

After a moment, Dean sighs.

“’Night, Cas.”

Cas falls asleep in hardly any time at all.

Dean is gone when he wakes up, but the bed is still warm, and there’s a cup of tea already waiting for Cas when he goes out.

Dean greets him with a soft good-morning, then wordlessly guides him to the sofa and settles in close, one foot hooked around Cas’s ankle as he turns on cartoons, clearly forgoing the news this morning, and Cas-

Cas decides that for now, he can simply be grateful for what he has.


	9. the heavy sleeper incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: dubious consent (bedsharing + morningwood + see title, additional details in the notes, scene marked with *** at the beginning and end and can be skipped), references to masturbation/self-fingering, intercrural sex, slight emotional breakdown (not because of the dub-con part of the dub-con scene, though), please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> I sincerely apologize for the wait! Someone on tumblr very kindly checked in several days ago to see how I was doing and I, fool that I am, basically said ‘there’s been stuff, but everything’s fine, the chapter will be up tomorrow!’ Needless to say – I totally jinxed myself. (No actual disasters, though, just exhausting/time-consuming drama.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for your delightful comments ♡ I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe!

“Uh. Cas.”

Cas lets out a long, loud sigh, tipping his head onto the sofa-back with a scowl.

“Yes?” he asks, a note of challenge in his voice, though it’s clear he knows what Dean’s about to ask.

“Why is that door open?”

Dean keeps to the mouth of the hallway, giving the sinister portal to the dangerous, terrifying world outside an uneasy look. Sure, it’s a nice day, but – the more they’re learning about this thing, the more it seems like you should just seal up in your house and hope for the best.

“Dean. I heard Jim and Izzy screaming at each other over their child’s long division homework this afternoon, so we can assume he is not gravely ill, and also, no one was out on their balcony when I opened it.”

Dean hesitates.

“Yeah, but – what if somebody walks by the building and it like . . . floats up from the street?”

Cas looks at him for a long moment.

“Well, we’ll have to risk it. As it happens – the AC is broken.”

Dean stares.

“It’s what?”

“Broken. I called maintenance-”

“You _what_? No! No way in hell is anybody coming in here, especially not anybody who’s been god-knows-where else-”

“And I was told to open my windows,” Cas interrupts dryly. “The weather should cool back off in a few days, and it won’t get hot enough to constitute an emergency.”

Dean relaxes.

“Okay. Well, I agree with that. It’s just responsible.”

Cas squints at him.

And then he tilts his head forward again, though not before Dean sees him smile.

“Yes, well, anyway – it’s hot out there, too, but the breeze helps.”

As if to emphasize his point, the curtain framing the opening flutters, and Cas hums.

“Besides. We do need fresh air at some point.”

Honestly, Dean’s tempted to head straight back to his room, fresh air be damned, but he can see Cas’s laptop screen from here and that’s definitely _play,_ not work, so he grudgingly heads out, grabs a soda from the fridge, and hops the back of the sofa to snuggle in close beside him.

Cas leans into it – like he always does – and angles his laptop toward Dean.

“Charlie sent me this. Do you want to watch it with me?”

As if there was any question.

Dean tucks his arm around Cas, lightly thumbing his shoulder, and Cas sighs.

“Sure. But, uh – long division?”

Cas’s lips quirk.

“I believe there was a disagreement about how to handle remainders.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Dean takes a swig of his soda, grinning. “Is Jim gonna make it?”

“Actually, I think Izzy was the one who’d confused some things with double-digit multiplication.”

“So? Don’t know about you, but I’m way more of an asshole when I turn out to be wrong.”

Cas’s smile widens, and he relaxes back, resting his head on Dean’s arm.

“Well, if Jim ends up sleeping on the balcony, I promise to shut the door.”

Dean laughs, and reaches over to hit play.

Of course, as the day wears on and the temperature climbs – several degrees in excess of what was promised – the balcony door gets shut and the curtains ruthlessly drawn in defense against the evening sun.

Dean’s starting to wish that maintenance had some sort of sterile service robot.

“Christ. I’m gonna need another shower, at this rate,” he complains, and Cas grimaces, pinching the front of his shirt away from his body.

“Likewise.”

Dean smirks.

“But I haven’t installed the safety bar for you, yet,” he teases, and Cas stiffens.

“Still not necessary,” he mutters, averting his gaze, and Dean chuckles.

“I still don’t know how the hell you managed to break off the soap dish.”

“It hadn’t been secured properly,” Cas insists, and Dean shakes his head.

“All you do is put _soap_ on it, it shouldn’t have snapped off like that, not unless you hulk-smashed it down.” Dean pauses, frowning. “Actually, wait a minute – no, you don’t. Neither of us use bar soap. What the hell happened?”

Cas shrugs, shuffling toward the hall tree.

Dean shuffles right after him, pretty sure he’s about to reach for a mail pile that’s not done decontaminating.

“I don’t know, it just happened,” Cas says, and – _yup –_ extends his hand toward the stack of envelopes on top of the catalogues.

Dean huffs and crowds in behind him, snatching his wrist before it can make contact.

“Dude. That’s been sitting for less than two days, it’s not safe yet.”

Cas says nothing for a moment, then glances over his shoulder, meeting Dean’s eyes.

A week ago, Dean probably would have felt a little _uncomfortable_ , Cas warm against his front, face not so many inches from his own, but this is par for the course now and his body (mostly) knows it doesn’t mean anything, so he just raises a brow back at him.

“What?”

Cas shakes his head, lowering his arm, though he doesn’t move.

“I had no way of knowing that.”

“Cas. We’re in a _pandemic._ You don’t touch random shit with your bare hands in a pandemic,” Dean says, though he’s a little distracted now, examining the short curls at the back of Cas’s neck. As much as it feels like he’s been wrapped up with Cas all fucking week, this is an angle he doesn’t usually get, Cas’s dark hair tapering off into the smooth, pretty line of his neck, the collar of his t-shirt disappointingly high.

Dean saw his back during pilates the other day, and it – like the rest of him – is fucking _beautiful_.

“It’s in my _home._ You should have put a sticky note on it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll do that next time,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. It’s been a hot day, and Cas has been sweating, which should be gross, but since he showered this morning – and somehow snapped the soap dish off the wall – he just smells like _Cas._

Dean really, really doesn’t want to use the word ‘musky,’ because _ew,_ but-

Cas clears his throat, and Dean abruptly realizes his nose is now about half a centimeter from the back of Cas’s neck, which – well, that might be a little hard to explain.

“May I have my hand back?”

Dean blinks, equally startled to find that yeah, that is his hand, still wrapped tight around Cas’s wrist.

“Maybe. How’d you break the soap dish?”

Cas goes silent.

Dean swears he stops breathing.

“I had my foot on it,” Cas finally says, and Dean snorts.

“Edge of the tub works just as well if you’re trying to shave,” he points out, and there’s another long pause.

“I wasn’t. But it feels better, if I brace it against something higher.”

“What feels-” Dean starts, and then the penny drops, and the picture that flashes through his mind is so unexpected and vivid that Dean drops Cas’s hand, too.

Cas takes a deep breath and steps away.

“You asked,” he says, rubbing his arm, not quite looking at Dean, but that’s fine, because Dean’s still stuck in his head, Cas with one hand on the wall, leg hiked up with the soap dish for support, fingers pushing into himself while he curls forward and water beats against his back as he swallows a moan-

“Thought, uh. Thought we decided we weren’t – weren’t gonna waste water.”

“Yes, well, water feels nice, and there are no soap dishes in my bedroom.”

Dean swallows.

“There aren’t any in the shower anymore, either,” he jokes, and Cas squints at him.

“Really?”

With a sheepish smile, Dean shrugs.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He hesitates. “I can fix that? I’ll have to order some adhesive and caulk, so it’ll take a few days, but . . .”

Cas looks at him for a long moment.

“I see. So – even though neither of us use bar soap, you’re willing to bring foreign packages into our home and fix the shower, just so I can use my preferred position to masturbate.”

Well, when he puts it like _that_ -

“I mean . . . yeah? It – it’s not really different than all the, uh. The touching. And the – the sleeping thing. We’re just – we’re in this together, right? We’ve gotta, you know. Make sure each other’s needs are met.” He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. “I – I think we’re doin’ pretty good, so far. I wouldn’t wanna mess us up.”

Cas slowly nods.

“Right.” He hesitates. “That – that’s true. We are. And – I’d appreciate that, very much.”

Dean waits, sensing a ‘but.’

“But,” Cas continues, holding his gaze, and yup, there it is. Dean tries not to be nervous about what might follow. “If there’s . . . anything, anything at all, that you need, even if – even if you normally wouldn’t ask me – don’t, um, don’t hesitate. I want to take care of your needs as well, Dean.”

“Oh.” Dean relaxes. That was one of the least scary ‘but’s he’s ever heard. Honestly, despite the awkwardness inherent to all conversations about their respective self-pleasuring sessions, this is actually a really nice moment.

He smiles.

“Thanks, Cas. But you, uh. You’re doing a great job.”

Cas nods again.

“Alright. But – if there’s anything else. And – I mean _anything_. Even if it’s not ideal, for you, I – I’m here.”

Dean’s warm, squishy feelings turn a little perplexed, at that.

“Okay. I . . . appreciate that. But aside from – I don’t know, game nights with friends and dinner at Mom and Dad’s – I’ve got everything I need.”

Cas looks pained.

“Really. There’s nothing else you’re missing? That you usually get?”

Dean considers this, puzzled by Cas’s pushing, although he’s not too worried about it.

Cas really _is_ the best friend he has, and one of the things he loves most about Cas is that, whatever it looks like on the surface? He always tries his fucking hardest for the things that are important, and his friends are one of them.

Anyway – for the most part, anything Dean feels like he’s missing can’t really be solved until lockdown ends. Obviously, being cooped up with the inhumanly attractive person he’s in love with takes its toll some days, but it’s not like Dean had been getting laid for a long, long time _before_ quarantine started, and he knows that’s not what Cas is talking about.

“Nope,” he finally says, smiling. “I think I’m good.”

He swears Cas briefly looks dismayed.

“What about you? Aside from the, uh, the soap dish. You good? Is there anything else I can do?”

Cas doesn’t answer for a moment.

And then he slowly shakes his head, finally smiling back, though it almost seems rueful.

“No. There isn’t. Thank you.”

“Awesome.” Dean lifts his hand, catching a sudden yawn. “You hungry yet? I defrosted some of those weird chicken kale burgers you like.”

“I am. And thank you, I appreciate your willingness to eat them with me.”

“Sure.” Dean catches Cas’s eye, winking. “I’ve had worse things in my mouth.”

Cas makes a face and turns toward the kitchen.

“I’ll start steaming some brussels sprouts.”

Chuckling, Dean pads after him.

Yeah, it’s hard sometimes – especially when Cas is telling him specifics about how he likes to touch himself – but the last few days have felt a lot less tense than the ones before them, and overall . . .

He thinks he and Cas are kicking this whole quarantine thing in the ass.

The apartment is _sweltering_ by the time they’re on their last episode and Cas’s eyes are drooping, and Cas has half a mind to ask Dean to try and fix the _AC_ unit instead.

(The other half is about ready to try and fix it himself, and if he hadn’t been promised forty-five degrees and rain in less than forty-eight hours, he probably would).

The worst part is, it’s too hot to _cuddle._

Cas might have come up with the cuddling proposal for Dean’s sake, but he’s well-aware now of just how much he was missing out on, too, and after sitting a full two feet apart, sprawled out and occasionally fanning themselves while they tried to let the TV show distract them, Cas feels too _cranky_ to go to sleep.

He wants his hip stroked and his hair pet and he wants to rest his grubby hand on Dean’s soft, wonderful pie-top, because Dean hasn’t uncomfortably pushed it away _once_ since that first night Cas asked him to stay, and Cas is not the sort of fool who takes his privileges for granted.

What’s more, Dean came in the night after and asked if he could sleep in there again, and while Cas recognized a transparent effort to make sure Cas wouldn’t end up struggling on his own again, he was hardly about to say no.

And last night? Neither one of them said a word; Dean shut the laptop and Cas offered to leave the lamp on while he got the light, and then they casually settled in somewhere near the center, feet brushing and arms draped comfortably, and that was that.

Cas is afraid that tonight, in addition to receiving no cuddles of any kind, he will have to sleep alone.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffs, sitting up to hit pause and then reaching for the back of his vaguely damp t-shirt. “It’s too hot.”

He determinedly peels it off himself, and without sparing a glance for Dean’s reaction, starts shimmying out of his pajama pants.

“You, too,” he instructs, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels. “I don’t think either one of us will be able to sleep, otherwise.”

And yes, he’s a little worried about sleeping with Dean, skin-to-skin, especially since he _didn’t_ end up going for another shower, but he’s willing to risk it if it means he won’t end up having to do it by himself.

(It’s amazing to him how fast he gets used to things.)

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I guess – I probably would have done that a while ago, if I were in my room.”

Cas shrugs, tugging his pants free of his feet.

“It’s just us here. I don’t know why we wouldn’t – do what was comfortable.”

“Right.” Cas glances back to find Dean staring, though after a second, he grasps the back of his own collar, pulling it up and over his head.

There’s another beat of hesitation before he reaches for his pants, but then he’s bracing his feet on the bed and lifting, sliding them down his thighs and sitting back up before yanking them the rest of the way off.

His boxer-briefs have Scooby-Doo on them, and Cas can’t resist a smile.

“Very nice,” he offers, and Dean huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s hot enough in the room that even his chest and shoulders are faintly flushed, and Cas tries to reassure himself this was a _practical_ choice, as much for Dean’s benefit as his own.

It’s hard to do, with all of that lovely, freckled skin spread out beside him.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, glancing over, eyes slipping down to somewhere in the vicinity of Cas’s hips. “Your, uh, St. Patrick’s Day cupcakes are pretty sweet, too.”

Cas shrugs.

“Anna bought them for me, among others. They’re supposed to make me feel festive.”

Dean laughs, relaxing back into the pillow behind him.

“Not in April, they’re not.”

“I don’t know. I like them year-round.”

“Yeah? If it stays hot, am I gonna see the whole holiday collection?”

Cas grimaces.

“It won’t, but if it does and the AC unit doesn’t get fixed, consider yourself lucky if that’s _all_ you see.”

Dean chokes a little, though he starts laughing again.

“I don’t know why you hate the heat so much.”

“Because it’s _terrible,_ ” Cas mutters, and then shifts a little closer, subtly tilting his head toward Dean before tapping the spacebar with his foot. “Now be quiet.”

Dean complies, resettling himself far fewer inches away, and after a few moments-

He stretches his arm out, and gently starts to pet Cas’s hair.

Cas swallows his sigh, relaxing even further into the pillows, and there’s a quiet snort beside him.

“You’re obvious, you know that, right?”

Cas ignores him.

He can’t be _that_ obvious, or else Dean would be hiding in his room right now.

“Shut up, Dean,” he murmurs.

In response, Dean just turns onto his side and, with his free hand, reaches out and starts lightly thumbing over Cas’s hip.

And when the episode is over, he simply tucks the laptop away and shuts off the light, and even though they don’t touch when he comes back to bed -

Cas counts it as a win.

***

It feels like much, much less of a win the next morning.

Three days.

Three days, Cas has spent the blissful few hours before bed cuddled up with Dean, having his hip and his hair stroked in an act of almost unbearable pleasure and affection, Dean utterly ungrudging in providing it, and every night after-

Dean has stayed.

Which is good; which is as it _should_ be, Cas thinks, even if he knows it can’t last forever.

Except, each morning, Cas has rolled over into the warm, empty, Dean-scented spot beside him, and then he’s reluctantly slipped out of bed and into the living area, to exchange good-mornings and go about his day, because it looks like sleeping together is simply a lovely, only marginally-torturous part of their routine now.

But this morning-

This morning, Cas is not alone.

There’s a soft sigh behind him, warm and sweet against his neck, and while Cas usually requires extensive tea intake and a generous amount of time before he usually considers himself conscious in the mornings, today -

Today that soft, familiar sigh has him wide awake in an instant.

Or perhaps what _really_ has him suddenly alert is the unmistakable hardness pressed up against his ass.

“Dean?” he whispers, unsure if this is some sort of come on. If it is, it’s only acceptable because of the gradually escalating physical contact of the past week and the fact that only someone stupid or completely disinterested wouldn’t be able to tell that Cas is completely fucking desperate for it, especially after the poorly-disguised confession from three nights ago (not to mention his transparent offer from last night).

There’s no response from behind him, though, just more soft, even breaths, tickling at the back of Cas’s neck while Dean apparently slumbers away in peaceful unawareness.

“Dean,” he tries again, ignoring the answering heat in his own groin. He’s had Dean unintentionally rutting up against his ass several times now, since quarantine started, and he’s not about to be done in by it today.

Even if today is the first time Dean’s actually been hard.

Not to mention the first time he hasn’t been _yelling_ at Cas while he does it.

Not to mention the first time he’s had an arm loosely slung over him, one broad, warm hand resting against Cas’s bare stomach.

Cas takes a fortifying breath.

He’s better than this.

He’s snuggled Dean nearly to sleep for a week now, has had that hand drawing slow, tantalizing circles across his hip, and in light of ex-girlfriend fantasies and phone calls with Charlie, he likes to think he’s resigned himself to the knowledge that it neither means anything or will _lead_ to anything.

After all, Dean could be in bed with a long, lumpy body pillow, and he’d still have had it up this morning.

It has absolutely _nothing_ to do with Cas.

“ _Dean_ ,” he says, a little louder, deciding not to think too hard about why he hasn’t just rolled away and shoved Dean off, and at last, Dean stirs.

And for a moment, as he pulls his arm away, Cas thinks he’s succeeded, that Dean will wake up and be appropriately embarrassed, moving himself as far away as possible, or at the very least, that he’ll shift away, still deep in slumber.

But then he huffs and rolls forward, weight shoving Cas half onto his stomach, arm pinched uncomfortably beneath him, and that hardness presses flush and insistent against his rear, Dean’s skin hot against his back.

Cas closes his eyes, willing himself not to react.

Surely, he’s not this pathetic, is he? Popping a boner just because of some unintentional contact from his uninterested, unconscious friend?

“Mm,” Dean sighs, and then he shifts again, and suddenly his mouth is right against Cas’s neck, lips warm and breath hot and before Cas can even begin to try and process it, that hand is back on his stomach, Dean pushing harder against his ass.

Cas sort of wants to cry.

He also really, _really_ doesn’t want to move away.

Is it – is it really so wrong if he just – stays put? If he just stays completely, perfectly still, and he doesn’t touch himself, then – then isn’t that as good as if he were still asleep, completely unawares to whatever it was Dean happened to be doing? He’s not _doing_ anything to Dean, he reasons. He’s just . . . lying there and letting Dean do things to _him_.

Like he would be if he _hadn’t_ woken up.

Can he really be blamed for anything that happens?

Of course, Cas has barely finished thinking the words before his brain returns with an appalled, resounding _yes, you shameless scoundrel,_ and with a sigh, he plants his palm on the mattress, ready to pull himself out from under Dean.

But as soon as he pushes up, Dean rolls into him harder, knocking him off balance again, still hard where he very unmistakably thrusts against him.

“Fuck,” Cas mutters, heat rushing through him. The pressure feels _good,_ Dean’s weight on him vaguely comforting, and Cas’s dick isn’t the only part of him kind of happy about landing back here.

Still, that’s no excuse not to keep tr-

Dean moans, right in his fucking ear, and pushes into him again, and like this, Dean mostly on top of him, weight pressing him down, nothing but two thin pairs of boxers between them, Cas can _feel_ him, feel every hot inch against his cheeks as Dean grinds down, hand firm against Cas’s stomach.

_This is wrong,_ he tries to remind himself, wriggling in a halfhearted effort to get away – after all, it would just be awkward if he woke Dean up, at this point, so he can’t try _too_ hard – but as soon as he does, the friction against the mattress reminds him that _he’s_ hard, too, and Dean’s body clearly misunderstands the action, rocking into him once more in response.

“Oh, God,” he breathes out. Dean is _heavy,_ and Cas doesn’t have nearly as much motivation to extricate himself as he probably should. Maybe he _should_ wake Dean up. Yes, Cas will have a difficult time explaining how he let things progress this far – although his apparent arousal will probably make _that_ a short, terrible conversation – but he’s hard and so is Dean and the combination means he’s having trouble getting his body to cooperate with his better intentions.

But before Cas can make himself say anything, Dean sighs against his neck, and when he rolls his hips again, hard and insistent, Cas isn’t sure he’s not about to embarrass himself, just from that much alone.

He tells himself he’s bucking back to try and get Dean off of him.

Of course, as soon as he does, reluctantly maneuvering his hand underneath himself for leverage again, Dean makes an unhappy noise and rolls more fully onto him, trapping both him and his hands where it would be much easier for them to decide to just let Cas submit to this awful, delicious hell.

But – Cas is a _good friend,_ and he has willpower made of _iron,_ and he’s not going to let the first time Dean personally gets him off be when he neither wants to or knows he’s doing it.

Of course, before he can _behave_ like a good friend, Dean rocks into him with another moan, sending a ripple of pleasure coursing through Cas’s whole body, and he briefly forgets about the good-friend plan and arches back into it, suddenly frustrated about the flimsy cotton between them.

But then he takes a quiet, grounding breath, ignoring his aching cock, and surges upward, away from Dean -

Only to feel his boxers catch, the back sliding down as he moves up, bunching beneath his cheeks.

He freezes, stunned, but Dean still has an arm around him, groans and tugs Cas back down, and when Cas finally shakes free of his stupor and tentatively tries to pull himself upward again-

Dean makes a soft sound, a garbled mumble Cas could almost _swear_ sounds like his name, a mumble that goes straight to his dick even though his brain knows it couldn’t possibly be, and then the arm around his waist is tightening and Dean is shifting the several inches after him, settling back into position while Cas lies there in mortified lust and lets him.

And then Dean thrusts against him with a low moan, and Cas can _feel_ his cock, the head wet against his bare ass, scant inches from where Cas has dreamed about it going for years _,_ because all Cas’s good-friend efforts have managed to do is leave them _both_ bare and exposed.

He sucks in a breath, tensing, and Dean jerks again, slipping in between Cas’s thighs, hips pressing him down just enough for a rough slide against the sheet before Dean pulls back and rolls forward again, precome wetting Cas’s ass. Cas can’t help the noise that escapes him, arching on reflex and pushing back, instinctively trying to open himself up for it, and Dean groans softly, fingers curling against Cas’s stomach as he thrusts eagerly into the tight space between Cas’s thighs, dragging against him with every hard push forward; and it just – it feels so fucking _good,_ feels like the world’s best tease, like a promise of everything Cas has ever wistfully touched himself thinking about, and Cas _can’t_ – his stomach’s pulling tight and his toes are curling and the band on his boxers is keeping Dean perfectly on course, keeping him high and close and Cas is pushing up with his knees now, desperate to get him even closer, to feel it where he really wants it, to do whatever it takes to somehow finally _get_ it, except it doesn’t even matter, because _oh,_ God, if he doesn’t make Dean stop, he’s going to – he’s the worst friend and roommate in the world, but he’s definitely – he’s about to -

With a choked cry, he shoves against the bed with all his might, sending Dean sprawling back.

And then he slips out, snatches a pair of running shorts off the laundry pile, and makes a beeline for the door.

***

Dean wakes up hard, pulse racing, feeling like he’s about thirty seconds away from coming.

He also wakes up alone in Cas’s bed, the mattress still warm where his arm is flung out across it, like Cas was probably still there not too long ago.

His stomach pitches, and he bolts upright in horror.

“Fuck,” he says to the empty room, looking around in panic. “Cas?”

But the room _is_ empty, and no response is forthcoming, and although Dean’s heart settles down slightly, he’s still anxious.

To be fair, he tries to reassure himself, if he woke up and Cas was stiff in the sheets, he, too, would probably jet. It’s a thing that happens, especially when you’re twenty-two and stuck in quarantine with only your right hand for close company, and if anything, Dean would figure sliding out of bed before things got awkward would just be _polite._

Except – the real question is, _did_ Cas make it out of bed before things got awkward?

“Cas?” he calls again, reluctant to get up until his erection’s gone down, although panic is doing a lot for that. “Where you at, buddy?”

He waits.

Nothing.

The eerie, home-alone silence is alarming enough that Dean decides to-hell-with-it, throwing the blankets off and slipping out of bed, ready to go make sure Cas hasn’t fallen in the tub or knocked himself out on the corner of a kitchen counter.

“Cas? Buddy?” he calls, a little louder, and when it’s still just silence coming back at him, he ventures into the hallway.

The bathroom is dark, door open, Dean’s room more of the same, and when he shuffles out into the living area, a little afraid, he’s not sure whether or not to be relieved to find it empty instead of Cas’s cooling corpse sprawled somewhere on the floor.

He’s just wondering when and if it’s appropriate to call the police when he catches a flash of hot pink in his peripheral, which -

Yup. Dean stumbles over to the front door, squinting at the post-it.

_Went for_ _a_ _run, will take precautions. Drink your coffee. It’s fine._

He frowns at it, a little relieved to know Cas hadn’t been abducted out of bed with Dean lost to happy dreams beside him, but he doesn’t appreciate the snark, and the way the world is now, there’s a lot of other ways to be unsafe.

‘Precautions,’ Dean’s ass. Cas wasn’t as careful with himself as he should have been _before_ Covid-19, and not a damn thing has changed.

With a huff, he heads for the coffee maker, teeth clenched. His boner’s gone, but he feels tense and itchy, trying to map out Cas’s route in his head. It’s been a couple weeks since his last run, which means even if he wouldn’t _normally_ sit on benches, he might be tempted, and Cas is a polite young man, which means he’s probably not going to veer off as far as he should and keep his mouth shut if he passes any chipper dog-walkers or chatty singles desperate for the sound of another human being in real time.

It’s just – it’s _reckless._ If Cas wanted a run this morning, he should have fucking _talked_ to Dean, and Dean could have gone with him, or at least helped him strategize how to keep safe.

(Although to be fair, he probably would have tried to talk him out of it.)

Anyway, Dean’s on his second cup, too keyed up to focus on the news and trying his luck with some cartoons – which are a hell of a lot more boring when Cas isn’t there watching with him – and he nearly throws himself over the sofa back when he hears the key in the lock.

He stands stiffly, waiting while Cas lets himself in and shuts the door behind him, and then opens his mouth.

“Before you ask,” Cas says quickly. “I touched nothing and encountered no one.”

Dean hesitates.

“But slip streams-”

“I literally encountered _no one,_ ” Cas interrupts, kicking off his shoes with way less care than is warranted.

“Right, but – you _could_ have.”

“We are allowed outside for a reason, Dean. It’s perfectly safe.”

“It is _not_ -”

“I haven’t left the apartment in two fucking weeks,” Cas snaps. “I woke up feeling – feeling pent up, and I – I just needed to get out. It’s not like I went and joined a cuddle heap on a merry-go-round or picked up a trio of ICU nurses for casual sex or whatever sorts of things would _actually_ put us at risk, Dean. You can’t force me to stay inside.” He takes a deep breath. “Anyway, I took my shoes off at the door and the rest of me is headed straight for the shower. I don’t want to hear your bullshit.”

Dean just sort of stares as he stalks past – well, maybe he backs away a little, just to be safe, although Cas clearly notices, if the dirty look he shoots him is anything to go by – and tries not to feel hurt.

As far as he knows, they fell asleep snuggling, like is practically becoming a routine, Cas soft and sweet and sound asleep in his arms after yet another really, really nice evening in together, and fine, even if Cas noticed some awkward morning nonsense when he woke up -

That doesn’t explain _this._

It briefly occurs to him that maybe Dean _did_ do something this morning, something awful and horrifying which would explain a bad mood and worse, but then he dismisses it.

This is _Cas._ If Dean crossed a line, Cas would say so. Cas _asked_ for him, when he was feeling anxious and unhappy, the other night, and he told Dean how he really broke the soap dish, and he – he loves Dean’s pie-top, apparently.

Maybe before quarantine started, Cas would keep his mouth shut and avoid him, but – not these days. These days, they don’t really hold anything back.

If Dean did something shitty, Cas would _tell_ him.

Which means – there’s something else going on, this morning, or maybe it’s whatever made him ask for Dean the other night, whatever has him keeping his mouth shut over the fact that Dean keeps staying, but either way -

Dean wasn’t kidding, last night. They’re in this together, and it’s up to both of them to make sure everybody gets what they need.

And this morning?

It’s up to Dean.

Dean hovers anxiously at the mouth of the hallway, only half-paying attention to his phone while he listens for the shower to shut it off. It’s barely ten minutes before it does, and three minutes after that, Cas is throwing the door open with a bang, stalking across the hall to his bedroom with a towel around his waist, hair still wet and dripping.

Too worried to let the sight distract him, Dean hastens after him.

“Cas,” he starts, and Cas throws a sharp look over his shoulder, though he continues toward his dresser, yanking the top drawer open. Part of Dean wants to turn tail and run, but – Cas clearly isn’t okay. “Look . . . I, uh. I know you – you’re not having a great morning, and I want to help, I do, I just – will you talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Cas mutters, pulling out a pair of boxers. Dean hastily turns away when it’s clear he’s about to throw off the towel.

“Maybe not specifically, but-”

“It’s just a bad morning,” Cas interrupts. “Just – leave me alone for a little while. It’s fine.”

Dean frowns, turning back around.

“Dude, no it’s not. You’re – honestly, you’re more upset than I’ve ever seen you. Especially after the night you had a few days ago – I don’t know, man. I think we should talk about it.”

Cas huffs a laugh, pulling open a different drawer.

“Trust me, you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I do,” Dean insists, and he moves a little closer, sitting down on the foot of the bed. “I know I’m not usually – I won’t usually talk. I’m not good at it. But – it’s good to try, and I’m not the worst at listening, and if you’re struggling – I wanna help you.”

Cas pauses, folded t-shirt in hand.

Dean waits.

And then Cas drops the t-shirt and turns around, something dark and bitter in his eyes.

“You want to _help_ me.”

“Yes!” Dean insists, looking back at him, still a little baffled, and definitely a little hurt, even if he knows it’s not about him. “I told you, Cas. Whatever you need. I’ll give it to you.”

Cas swallows, just looking at him for a moment, frustration in his gaze.

And then he stalks forward and _shoves_ Dean back.

Dean just goes, of course, not expecting at all, and before he’s even finished bouncing on the mattress, Cas is climbing on after him, straddling his hips and glaring down at him, his hands fisted in Dean’s shirt.

Dean just stares up at him, stunned.

And then, slowly, Cas starts leaning forward.

Dean watches him with wide eyes, heart wild in his chest, because Cas is looking at him, angry and determined, getting closer and closer, like he’s about to – and there’s no fucking way, but Dean could almost swear – because Cas _is_ close, warm breath ghosting across Dean’s face as he presses toward him, and holy _shit,_ he’s really going to -

But then Cas abruptly curls forward, head dropping, forehead resting against Dean’s chest.

Dean swallows and instinctively reaches up, cupping the back of his head.

“Cas?” he whispers, struggling through his shock. Clearly, it’s not what he thought it was, and whatever it is, it’s not – it isn’t good.

Cas takes a deep, shuddering breath. Dean can feel the exhale hit his sternum, and his chest feels cold in its wake.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbles back. “Sorry, I’m just – I’m struggling. I know you are, too, but I’m just – I just-”

Cas cuts off, shoulders drawing up, fingers curling even tighter.

Dean has no idea what the fuck to do.

“I don’t know,” Cas whispers. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Dean says quickly, though he’s not sure how or why, just that it needs to be, and soon. “It’s okay, Cas.”

“No. No, it’s not, you don’t – you don’t even know, Dean, I’m – I – I can’t-”

Dean takes a deep breath, tightening his grip in Cas’s hair, and then he rolls them, bringing his knees up onto the bed on either side of Cas’s hips. Cas makes a startled sound, but Dean just catches his hands, threading their fingers together and squeezing tight as he braces them against the bed.

“I know, Cas. Trust me, I know. I wake up and I read the news and I feel it, too. The only reason I haven’t lost it yet is because you’re right here with me. And I – I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, Cas. Okay? I’ve got you.”

Cas swallows, blinking up at him.

“I know,” he says, and he sounds miserable about it. “I know. You do. You – you have me.”

Dean nods, desperate to get that sad, bleak look off his face, and ducks his head, tipping forward to rest his forehead against Cas’s.

Cas sucks in a breath, and Dean holds his hands a little tighter, pressing down, trying to ground him.

“Okay. See? We’re – like I said, we’re in this together. We’re gonna be fine. But I can’t have you losing it, or I’m gonna lose it, and then everything just spirals from there, so – just breathe with me. It’s gonna be okay.”

Cas closes his eyes.

“I don’t know if it is,” he whispers. “I’m trying, but-”

“And you’re doing great,” Dean insists. “It’s just a bad day. Bad week, even. There – there’s gonna be a lot of those, and half of ‘em are gonna be mine. And I’m gonna need you to do this for me, too, and I’m gonna try and remember that yeah, it _is_ going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You and me, Cas.” Dean takes a deep breath, turning his head a little, brushing his nose against Cas’s. “I swear. We’ll be okay.”

For a moment, Cas doesn’t answer, breaths short and fast, clearly upset.

And then he tenses, hands jerking free of Dean’s, and for a moment, Dean’s pretty sure he’s about to get shoved off the bed.

It doesn’t happen, though. Instead, Cas’s arms wrap around him, pulling him down, his head shifting to tuck against Dean’s neck, and Dean swears he hears a muffled sob as Cas squeezes him tight.

“I love you,” he cries, hoarse, and for a moment, Dean freezes, not sure if he’s more shocked by the tears or by the words that followed, and definitely not sure what to do about either one.

But in the next moment, he relaxes, because this is _Cas_ , so he leans in as close as he can and does his best to put his arms around him, carefully holding him in return.

He knows what Cas means.

“Me, too, Cas,” he murmurs, kissing the side of his hair. “I’m here. You’re my best friend; I’m not going anywhere.”

And Cas-

Cas just buries his face in Dean’s shoulder and cries harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** SPOILERS ***
> 
> Dubious consent: Dean and Cas go to sleep in their underwear, due to the broken AC, and Cas wakes up to find Dean rubbing against his ass. When his initial effort to wake Dean fails, and he’s begun having a reaction to the contact, Cas determines to try and slip away without waking Dean and subjecting them both to an awkward confrontation. This plan backfires, however, because Cas’s efforts ultimately result in his and Dean’s boxers becoming displaced, leaving his ass and Dean’s erect penis exposed, resulting in intercrural sex. Cas does respond and participate briefly, somewhat stunned by this _incredibly_ unlikely sequence of events, and only when he realizes he’s about to orgasm from it does he remember himself, shove Dean off, and flee the situation.
> 
> To be clear: Cas had multiple options of escape. His reluctance to wake Dean and risk Dean discovering his arousal, in addition to experiencing that arousal in the first place, are why he does not take them. However, as Cas himself considers, his handling of the situation is not entirely fair to Dean, who is asleep and cannot consent, even if he is the one instigating it. That being said, these two are keenly interested in having sex with one another, and any problems they would have with this situation would be rooted in fear of having taken advantage of the other person and, in Cas’s case, a sense of being inadvertently teased with something he wants but cannot actually have.


	10. the team sport incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: references to a broken leg, references to home repair projects, mutual masturbation, Cas implying Dean’s not very bright (but in the context of Dean’s inability to see that Cas is in love with him; generally speaking, Dean is very bright, and Cas knows/appreciates this), please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait, there has been more real life nonsense. We’re nearly to the end, here, though! Thank you very much for your patience, and I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe! Please enjoy ♡

Cas doesn’t really let go, for the most part.

Dean eventually manages to sort of drag them up toward the head of the bed, but Cas is all arms and hands and a face hidden in some part of Dean’s t-shirt, and after ten minutes of what feels almost like _wrestling,_ the best Dean can do is a partial lean against the pillows, Cas’s head on his stomach, one leg thrown over Dean’s, his hands fisted tightly in the Zep shirt.

He’s not crying, but he’s not speaking, either, just staring miserably into nothing, and if Dean wasn’t confident they’d both die in agony if they got anywhere near a doctor right now, he’d be seeking medical help.

“’You, uh. You want me to play you a cartoon?” Dean tries, one hand rubbing soothing circles against Cas’s back, the other stroking through his hair, because Cas _always_ likes that kind of thing – turns into one big, happy cat over it, practically – and honestly, it’s all Dean can think to do.

After all, everybody’s stressing normalcy and routine, right now. They snuggle up and watch Netflix all the damn time, these days, so maybe if they do it now, it’ll give Cas some kind of . . . soft reset.

Cas doesn’t say anything, but then there’s a slight nod against Dean’s stomach, and it’s all he can do to hold back a sigh of relief.

Cas is responsive, at least. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?

“I gotta get the laptop, buddy, hang on a sec.”

Still, Cas makes absolutely zero effort to move, so Dean tries to just kind of twist, reaching over the side. They’re too close to the center for that to get him very far, and he makes a face at the nightstand, taking a deep breath.

“Can you move for a sec, Cas? I can’t reach.”

Dean waits.

Nothing happens.

_So much for being responsive._

“Right,” he mutters, and with a huff, takes his other hand off Cas entirely to wrap it around one of the headboard slats while he halfway lunges over the side, making a grab for the laptop.

It just barely doesn’t slide back out of his hand, and he quickly uses the slat to pull himself up before it can fall.

Cas grunts and shifts back onto his lap the moment he’s upright again.

“Sorry,” Dean finds himself saying, even though Cas was _totally_ un-fucking-cooperative, and Cas says nothing, clumsily reaching for Dean’s free hand and dumping it on his back before trying to burrow back into the pie-top.

It is not cute, Dean tells himself, nor is a small, terrible part of him kind of enjoying being clung to like this.

Not at _all._

“Alright,” he mutters, hastily clicking through. “Let’s see. You want some _Steven Universe_?”

Cas’s fingers twitch at the hem of his shirt, and since Dean figures that’s as good of a ‘yes’ as he’s going to get, he hits play.

The truth is, he’s pretty sure the cartoon is the least of what Cas needs right now.

He puts his other hand back in Cas’s hair, smoothing it away from his face, and Cas lets out a small sigh and shuts his eyes, like Dean didn’t just jump through fucking hoops to get him a cartoon to watch, and for a while, there they stay. Cas’s back is warm and smooth beneath Dean’s palm and his hair is as soft and unruly as ever, tangling around Dean’s fingers like the hair itself is trying to trap them there, and the most Cas ever moves is to breathe.

“Should call you Tangela,” Dean murmurs at one point, but Cas just rubs his cheek against Dean’s stomach in response, so Dean simply chuckles and keeps petting him.

_Hulu_ autoplays three episodes, Dean’s arms aching from the effort of keeping Cas at equilibrium because every time he tries to slow down or stop, Cas tenses right up, but by the time they’re halfway through the fifth, Dean’s pretty sure Cas has, at last, fallen asleep.

He reduces his strokes gradually, hands cold when he finally risks pulling them away, and although Cas makes a small, sad noise when Dean gingerly slips away from him, he doesn’t wake.

_Be right back,_ Dean promises silently, chest tight, and hastens out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.

He’s about an inch away from hitting the Call button on Charlie’s contact page when a different call pops up, and though it wasn’t his first thought-

Maybe he _should_ ask her.

He taps the answer icon.

“Hey, Mom,” he says softly, pulling himself over the sofa back and settling in.

“Hey, Dean,” she sighs, and he immediately straightens. “How are you doing?”

“Uh. Okay. What about you? What’s up?”

She sighs again.

“Well, your father fell off a ladder.”

“ _What_?” He leans forward, phone clutched tight. “Jesus, is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine – aside from his ego – but he broke his leg.”

Dean stills.

“He . . broke his leg?”

“Not badly, but – he’s in a cast, and he’s not going to be doing any more quarantine projects. At least, assuming it doesn’t last for more than another six weeks,” she mutters.

Dean doesn’t laugh.

“You guys – did you go to the hospital?”

There’s a pause.

“We did,” his mother says slowly. “But we were very careful to wear masks, and honestly, Dean, it’s not that bad here, yet-”

“Mom, it’s bad _everywhere_!”

“Fine, but it’s _less bad_ here. Anyway, we’re both healthy, we were in quarantine before, and the doctors and nurses are being _incredibly_ careful, and we’re going straight back into quarantine. We’ll be fine. Besides, we can’t do anything about it now, so there’s no point worrying.”

Dean doesn’t even know where to _begin._

“But – but-”

“And when _I_ finish repairing the second story gable, I’ll get a bigger ladder instead of trying to stand on top of the short one,” she says loudly, and he hears his Dad groan in the background.

Which would normally make Dean laugh, except his dad has a broken leg and both his parents spent hours in a fucking hospital in the middle of a pandemic, and his mom is talking about getting right back on the ladder for round two and even if she _doesn’t_ fall off of it, they probably both caught this stupid thing at the hospital and he’s going to spend the next few weeks watching in helpless horror as they get sicker and sicker until he doesn’t have any parents at all.

“It’s a _pandemic_!” he insists, trying not to sound hysterical. “Why the hell do either _one_ of you need to fix it?”

“Well, Dean, the wood is rotting, and we’ve got nothing but time right now. Of _course_ we’re doing stuff around the house. Honestly, I’m sorry he broke his leg, but it’ll probably be good for your father to take a break.”

“ _Says the woman who’s painted the kitchen twice_!” he hears his dad yell in the background, and Mary huffs.

“Only because the first time was yellow, and once I finished, I remembered I hated yellow,” she calls back, and then says into the phone, “It’s blue now.”

“ _I liked the yellow.”_

His mother sighs.

“He’s going to have Grandpa Henry come paint some daisies around the border, just to spite me. Anyway, how are you doing?”

Dean rubs his forehead, trying to tell himself not to panic.

Just because you get it doesn’t mean you die, right? Dad’s active, and ever since that liver scare, he’s stuck to beer in moderation, and Mom does her angry punching classes at the gym all the time and they take after dinner walks and eat salads Sam sends them recipes for and – and they’ve probably got good odds, right?

_Right?_

“I – I’m okay. But make sure Grandpa waits a while, okay? You guys were in a _hospital,_ you probably came in contact with this thing a million times.”

“Of course we’ll make him wait,” his mother says. “And what does ‘okay’ mean? Sam said you weren’t calling as much, I was hoping you’d calmed down.”

“Calmed _down –_ Mom! Everything’s getting _worse,_ how’m I supposed to calm _down_? And Dad better not still be drinking. Especially with a broken leg-”

“He’s _fine,_ Dean. We both are. And he’s sticking to one with dinner. Anyway, you _do_ sound upset, sweetie.” She sighs. “You saw the thing about the brain surgery and the blood clots, didn’t you?”

He shuts his mouth.

“What?”

“Never mind,” she says quickly. “What’s wrong? Sam said something about Cas driving you crazy – I know you guys get along, but being stuck with someone twenty-four-seven is a different story.”

She raises her voice significantly to say the last part, and in the background Dean hears his father start laughing.

Dean’s still not amused, something clammy and sharp trying to scrabble its way up his throat.

“God,” he mumbles. “Do you want – should I come down there? We’ve been quarantined for over two weeks, and unless Jim coughed something over the balcony, we should be good. I could get you guys your groceries and fix the gable and do the yard and-”

“Dean,” his mother interrupts. “We’re fine. I promise.”

“No, you’re _not,_ ” he insists. “Dad fell off a _ladder_! I – I should have come home when this thing first started, I could have stuck to the guest room and taken care of all this stuff-”

There’s a rustling noise.

“Son? We’re fine. I fell off the ladder ‘cause I was being a dumbass. You being here wouldn’t have done a damn thing for me.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Your mom and I are doing great, and besides, if you come home, we can’t have sex in the kitchen anymore.”

Dean jerks away from the phone, gaping, but can sadly still hear:

“ _We can’t anyway, since_ someone _wouldn’t get a bigger ladder.”_

John laughs.

“Anyway, listen, Dean, you stay put and take care of yourself, okay? Besides, that roommate of yours doesn’t seem like the type to do too well on his own. Quiet ones are always like that.”

Dean hesitates. Obviously, if he went home, he’d take Cas with him, although he’s not really sure how he’d talk him into it.

On the other hand, after this morning . . .

“Yeah,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, they are.”

There’s a long pause.

“What’s up, Dean?” his dad finally asks. “That poor kid havin’ a hard time?”

Dean hesitates, glancing back toward the hall.

“Yeah. Kind of. He, uh. He’s just . . . it’s a lot, you know? Everything.”

“Can’t argue with that. Never thought I’d see anything like this.”

“Right.” Dean sniffs. “He just . . . look, he _is_ quiet. He’s not so good at talking about what he needs, you know?”

“Gee, wonder who else is like that.”

“Dad.”

“No shame in it, you come by it honestly.” He pauses, and just as Dean hears a ‘ _boy, does he ever_ _’_ start in the background, John continues, “Your mother’s a goddamn nightmare to figure out.”

There’s a silence, and then a loud thump, and John grunts.

“Oh, come on, Mary, I’ve got a broken leg!”

“ _Be grateful that’s all that’s broken.”_

Dean huffs.

“Guys, this isn’t about me. Cas is – he’s really having a hard time, okay, and I don’t know what to do for him. I’ve asked him, but he just says he’s good, even though he’s not. And it’s hard, because he – he’s doing so much for me, he’s trying his damndest, he’s got me doing this dumb pilates thing so I get exercise and he’s giving me hugs so I don’t get touch-starved and I think he knows how bad I panic, so he won’t talk to me about what’s going on with him, but – but then he needed me to sleep in his room the other night, and he got really pissed today, but when all was said and done he just _cried,_ and I don’t – I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a long silence.

“You’re doing _pilates_?” Dad finally asks, incredulous, and there’s a sharp rustling before his mom gets on the phone.

“Ignore your father,” she says. “That’s really sweet of him, Dean. And I’m glad he’s been giving you hugs; for someone who needs as many as you do, you’re impossible when it comes to just _ask_ _ing_ for them.”

“ _What?_ I don’t – I don’t _need_ hugs!”

“Sweetie, I couldn’t go five minutes when you were little without you wanting a cuddle.”

“Mom, I was _four!_ All four-year-olds need cuddles!”

“Anyway, I’m sure Cas thinks it’s as cute as I did. I’m just glad he recognizes it.”

Christ, this is the _last_ time Dean ever calls for help.

_“_ _Hey, did he wear spandex for the pilates_?”

He can practically hear his mom rolling her eyes.

“Shut up, John. He’s your son – probably, anyway – which means he didn’t, because Winchester men never do the sensible thing.”

Dean clears his throat.

“A-anyway,” he starts, and Mary gasps.

“Oh!”

_“_ _Wait, did he?”_

“I – everything else was dirty, and Cas _wanted_ me to-”

There’s a weird, blotchy speaker-noise, Mary making a disgruntled sound along the way, and then his dad is back on.

“Hold up, son. Are you tellin’ me Cas is hugging you and making sure you exercise and asking you to sleep in his bed and wanting you to wear _spandex?_ ”

“What? I – I mean, technically, yeah, but it doesn’t-”

“Christ,” his dad interrupts, awed. “Dean, I think – how do the kids say it? - I think he wants the ‘D’.”

Dean drops his phone into the sofa cushions, thankfully missing the muffled commotion that follows.

Traumatized, he fishes it back out just in time for-

“-hate to say it, but he _does_ get his ass from you. Cas didn’t really stand a chance.”

Dean numbly hits the End Call button, and the only reason he picks it up when it rings a few seconds later is so the noise doesn’t wake up Cas.

“Are you guys gonna be helpful, now?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Your father just misses the point sometimes.”

_“_ _Says you_ _!”_

“Anyway – I know you said you talked to him, but John is right. You know how hard it is, Dean. Someone just asking you what’s wrong or what you need isn’t always helpful.”

Dean grimaces.

“Right, and I get that, but – what do I do instead, then? If he can’t talk, then – then how do I listen?”

“Well, with you, I always had to try and figure out what might be upsetting you, exactly, and then I made my best guess as to what was going to help you work through it.”

Dean swallows.

“And . . . did that work?”

“Sure, sometimes. With some trial and error, most of the time. But not always.” She sighs. “Really, Dean, sometimes you just have to be there, and let somebody work it out themselves.”

Which – that is Dean’s least favorite fucking answer in the entire world, because that answer is basically ‘ _there might be nothing you can do, Dean,’_ and Dean _hates_ the idea of that, because – because -

Because he’s Cas’s _roommate,_ damn it. And when he agreed to be Cas’s roommate, he made an implicit promise to take care of him, to have his back and hold him when he needed it, for better or for worse, through Covid-19 or Pilates, until a broken lease did them part.

He didn’t make an implicit promise to sit on his thumbs and make sympathetic faces while Cas was fucking drowning on his own.

“Yeah, no,” he mutters. “I – I’ve gotta fix this.”

There’s a long pause.

“Dean. There might not be anything you can do for him.”

“There _has_ to be, Mom! I – I’m all he has right now. _We’re_ all we have. And – I’m not gonna let him down.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself-”

“What would you do for me? If I – if I woke up pissed and then cried and then went practically catatonic watching cartoons?”

She sighs.

“I’d probably make you tomato rice soup and sit with you, and hope it was just a bad day. And if it wasn’t, I’d wait and try and talk to you in the morning.”

Dean nods.

“Okay. Okay, I – that’s mostly what I’ve been doing, but the soup’s a good idea. I’ll do that.”

“Dean – I mean it. You can’t always fix things for everyone.”

And yeah, maybe his mother’s right, but even so -

The least Dean can do is _try._

Cas is still asleep when Dean gets back, thank God – Dean would have hated it if he woke up alone – but he opens his eyes when Dean carefully sits back on the bed.

Dean freezes.

“Hey,” he whispers. “You fell asleep.”

“I did.” Cas studies him for a long moment, unreadable, and Dean suddenly worries he woke up, after all. “Where were you?”

Dean relaxes a little.

“Just on the phone with Mom.”

“Ah.” Cas rolls onto his back, tilting his head. “How is she?”

“Good.” He hesitates. Part of him wants to tell Cas about his dad, about how worried he is about them both, but he doesn’t think Cas really needs that, today, not on top of everything else.

“And your father?”

“He’s doin’ good, too.”

Cas frowns at him slightly.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “I know you worry about them.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do, but, uh. I think they’ll be okay.”

Cas looks away.

“Have you thought about going to see them?” he asks quietly, and Dean gives him a startled look.

“What?”

“You can. I’ll be fine here on my own.”

_No, you won’t,_ Dean almost says, but somehow, he doesn’t think Cas would appreciate that.

“Right. Uh. I’m good here, though. No sense risking the travel.”

Cas just stares at the ceiling.

“It’s a short enough drive you wouldn’t have to stop for gas. And we’ve been in quarantine for two weeks, like you s-like you’re supposed to be.”

Dean grimaces.

“Yeah, but . . .”

“You should go visit them,” Cas says firmly, but Dean sees the way his hands are clenched at his sides, knuckles white, and he huffs.

“Dad broke his leg. Obviously, they went to the hospital, so I can’t visit them for a couple more weeks, anyway. The point is moot.”

Cas swallows.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely sad, but not at all surprised, and Dean gives him a sharp look.

“How long have you been awake?” he asks abruptly, and Cas shrugs.

“When did you come back in here?”

Dean studies him for a moment, but Cas still isn’t looking at him.

“Well, they don’t want me there, anyway. Didn’t even get a chance to ask about bringing you with me.”

At last, Cas turns, startled.

“You – what?”

“Dude, I wouldn’t go _without_ you. You’d be ordering pizzas and Amazon books every fucking night.”

Cas just stares.

“You’d quarantine with me at your parents’ house?”

“Yeah? I quarantine with you here.”

“Because you don’t have a choice.”

Dean lifts his brows.

“Yeah, and if I did, I’d still quarantine with you. What, are you saying you wanna trade me out for Gabe?”

Cas swallows, still staring.

“No. No, I – I wouldn’t trade you out for anyone, Dean.”

And yeah, Dean’s committed to being the best friend and roommate Cas could ever have, committed to doing all the pilates and wearing all the tight shorts and dispensing all the cuddles a guy could want, thinks you’d have to drag him away kicking and screaming to get him to _leave_ Cas, at this point – but that still catches him off guard.

“Oh.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, thanks. But, uh. I was thinking - it’s gonna rain a little later, isn’t it? Maybe I could make you – us, I mean – some soup, and we can just . . . spend the day in bed together. How’s that sound?”

Cas looks at him blankly for a moment, and then he nods.

“That sounds good,” he says softly. “What kind of soup?”

“Tomato rice. Like my Mom makes.”

Cas nods again.

“Can I help?”

“Sure, Cas. You can stay here if you want, though.”

Cas sits up, shaking his head.

“No, I want to. Let me grab a shirt.”

That settled, Dean goes to wait by the door, and once Cas has covered up most of the interesting things with a t-shirt, they head out to the kitchen.

Dean puts on the radio and dances through the whole process, singing extra off-key in the hopes that it’ll cheer Cas up, but he doesn’t really think it works.

Nah, whenever he discreetly glances up to check-

Cas mostly just looks _sad._

The weather’s cooling, clouds gathering overhead, but there’s still no sign of actual rain by the time they’re done with their soup.

Cas just sets aside their bowls and rolls back into Dean, anyway, tucking his head on his chest and settling in like there’s not really any plan to move for a while.

So Dean wriggles a little further down the bed, slipping an arm around him, and when he gently starts to run his fingers through Cas’s hair, Cas sighs and tilts his chin up, subtly pushing into it.

Dean resists the temptation to ask if he’s feeling better. The last thing he wants to do is remind him that he _wasn’t_ feeling well to begin with.

At the episode break, Cas takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he says, though he doesn’t move, and Dean looks down at him, perplexed.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me.”

“Oh.” Dean lifts his shoulders slightly, careful not to jostle him. “Yeah. I mean – you take care of me. I actually – I know this is kind of, uh, a hard day, but – yesterday, I was thinking . . . you and I are good at this. We make a good team.”

Cas nods slowly, cheek warm through Dean’s t-shirt.

“I’m the weaker member, though. I’m sorry.”

“Dude. How many times have I gone into hysterics the last couple weeks? And fine, maybe they’re justified – just look at the news, for God’s sake – but you’re still the one who ends up dealing with it. Trust me, you – you’re doing great. You’re an awesome team member.”

Cas huffs.

“Even if I’m not terrible, I’m not awesome.”

“You are,” Dean argues. “You’re the best team member. Hell, I don’t ever wanna be a team with anybody else.”

Cas says nothing for a moment.

“Well,” he finally offers, quiet. “Me, either.”

“Good.” Dean clears his throat. “’Cause the paper says we might be doing this for a while.”

Cas sighs.

“We’re going to run out of shows to watch.”

Dean chuckles.

“No worries, buddy. That’s what porn is for.”

Dean can’t see it, but he’s pretty sure Cas rolls his eyes.

“Watch the show, Dean,” he mutters, and because Dean _isn’t_ a totally terrible team member, he obliges.

He obliges a little too hard, unfortunately, because he jerks awake some indeterminate amount of time later, Cas curled into his right side, sound asleep against his chest, and a _really_ problematic situation happening below the belt.

Dean grimaces. He was way too freaked out about Cas disappearing on him to take care of things this morning, but maybe he should have just ducked into his room to rub one out before Cas got back from the run, because this – this is a problem.

And while a part of him is tempted to just ignore it and wait it out, he’s got a pretty good feeling he’ll be sleeping in here tonight, and the last thing he wants to do is end up trying to ‘rub one out’ against _Cas._

That would _definitely_ be shitty teammate behavior.

Slowly, he starts to pull his arm out from behind Cas, ready to slide free and head to his room to try and zip through a quick pipe-cleaning and hopefully get back before Cas even notices he’s gone, but as soon as he starts shifting away-

“Where are you going?”

Dean freezes, swallowing.

He really, really hopes Cas’s eyes are still shut right now, because given the angle his head is at, there’s no other way he wouldn’t see what was going on.

“Uh. My room. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I just have to, uh, take care of a few things.”

Cas is silent for so long Dean wonders if he fell back asleep.

“You can take care of them here,” he finally says, and Dean stares at the top of his head, wondering if he’s understanding right.

“Uh.”

Cas shifts, tilting his head back to look at him.

“You meant to go and masturbate,” he says quietly. “Right?”

Dean blinks down at him, stunned.

“Right.”

Cas nods.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“Uh. I – I’m pretty sure roommate code says I do, buddy.”

Cas is silent for a moment, just watching him.

“We’re both adults. It’s not like we don’t know what each other does,” he adds, and the words sound familiar for some reason, but-

“That’s . . . kinda different than seeing it.”

“But I’ve heard you,” Cas points out. “You’ve heard me.”

“Uh. That – that’s . . . true, but . . .” Dean hesitates. “If, uh. If you don’t wanna be alone, I can just – if you’re okay with pretending it’s not there for a bit, I’m fine. I’d rather stay with you.”

Cas nods.

“You can do both, though. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, no, trust me, Cas – jerking off right next to you while you wait for me to finish so you can watch some more TV will _definitely_ make me uncomfortable.”

Cas studies him for a few seconds, then takes a deep breath.

“What if I do it, too?”

Dean stops breathing.

“Uh. What?”

“What if I jerk off, too? Honestly, that – that sounds nice, right now.”

“Oh.” Dean gets that. If he’s really sad, jerking off is the last thing he wants to do, but if he’s just _kind_ _of_ sad, it frequently does make him feel better. Or at least takes his mind off things.

He can see how, after some dinner and a nap, Cas is in the just-kind-of-sad place, where a little self-love might give him another boost.

Except – does he seriously want to do it with Dean sitting right next to him?

“You don’t have to stay for my sake,” Cas says suddenly. “If that’s – weird, you can go.”

“No,” Dean says quickly. “It’s not – I mean, it’s – maybe it’s a little weird, but . . . I’m good. Probably be good for both of us, right? It’s kinda been a long day, you know, so . . . some endorphins and stuff would be . . . yeah.”

Cas nods slowly, expression unreadable.

“Okay,” he finally says, and sits up.

Then he sticks his hand underneath the pillows Dean’s leaning against, feeling around until he abruptly pulls it back, bringing Dean’s spare lube bottle with it.

“Hold out your hand,” he says quietly, uncapping it, and when Dean offers his right hand, utterly speechless, Cas frowns. “Left.”

Dumbly, Dean swaps hands, and Cas squirts a generous amount into his palm before doing the same for himself and setting it aside.

But instead of moving away altogether, like Dean expects, he just turns the opposite direction and then twists, settling back in and curling up against Dean’s chest, his hips and legs turned out and away as he takes a deep breath, tucking his face into the left side of Dean’s neck.

Dean just lies there, perfectly still, too stunned to even speak.

“It’s less weird this way,” Cas mumbles, apparently by way of explanation, and shifts slightly, trying to get more comfortable, carefully holding his lube-hand aloft.

_Neither of us are_ _left-handed,_ Dean almost says, like that’s the biggest problem with this setup, but he’s not sure he can get any words out right now, Cas snuggled up against his chest, breath warm against his throat, apparently happy for them both to spank it lying just like this, like as long as his legs are over _there,_ as long as his dick is facing _away_ from Dean, it’s not gonna be _weird_.

“You can put your arm around me,” Cas offers, and Dean looks down slightly, startled.

“Sure,” he manages, awkwardly bringing his right arm up and snaking it under Cas’s left. He means to just wrap it around him, rest it in some safe, friendly zone on his back, but then his brain stupidly reminds him of Cas’s hip-stroking preference and the signals get crossed and he ends up just resting it right there on Cas’s left hip, where the end of his t-shirt covers the top of his boxers.

He can fucking _feel_ Cas swallow.

“It’ll be in the way there, Dean.”

Dean looks at his hand, confused for a moment, and then he realizes what it will be in the way _of._

“Oh.” Dean hesitates, stuck on the concept of Cas’s hand working over himself, arm brushing Dean’s on every stroke, and after a beat, Cas just reaches for the hand on his hip himself, gently sliding it up, right under his shirt and over the warm slope of his waist and all the way to where his ribs start, to where Dean can _feel_ Cas’s heart, quick and steady behind them, an unmistakable rhythm right under Dean’s palm.

“There,” Cas murmurs, turning his face into Dean’s neck a little more. “You can start.”

It takes Dean a few more seconds to process that, to process the fact that Cas really means to just lie in Dean’s arms and touch himself until he comes, presumably with his face buried in Dean’s neck, but Dean’s a good friend, damn it, and if being a good friend means holding his buddy while the guy gives himself an orgasm, then by golly, Dean is going to do it.

“Okay,” he says, hoarse, and reaches down, tries to slip his hand past the waistband of his boxers without getting lube all over himself, and the instant he wraps it around his dick, gingerly pulling it free, he remembers just how fucking _hard_ he still is.

He shouldn’t be, should have a million questions, a million reservations and then some, should have been too preoccupied with making sure Cas was doing what really made him comfortable to be able to even keep it up, but-

He is.

He is, because he’s wrapped up in bed with Cas and he can feel Cas breathing, deep and even against his neck, soft curls brushing Dean’s cheek, and he can feel Cas’s heart beating, skin warm and ribs sharp, and if this whole pandemic thing wasn’t surreal enough, the guy Dean’s in love with is about to come apart in his arms in probably the one and only way Dean _hasn’t_ dreamed about over the last two years.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, right up against his throat, and Dean jerks in his own hand, brain utterly misreading what his name being said means right now.

“Yeah?” he manages, and Cas is quiet for a moment.

“Did you start?”

“Uh. Yes? I mean – no – I mean, just – I was waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Cas shifts, and when Dean feels his arm move, he instinctively glances over, watches Cas’s hand travel down to his lap, fingers tucking under his boxers as his hand disappears over the telltale bulge in them and Dean-

Dean quickly shuts his eyes.

He’s never been into watching porn with friends, but if you do, the number one rule is not to look at each other.

And while no, he’s never cuddled up with a friend while they jerked off in each other’s arms, either, he’s pretty sure the number one rule of _that_ has to be the same – right?

Anyway, he doesn’t get a chance to think about it, because a few seconds later, Cas’s breath hitches, and Dean automatically tightens his grip over Cas’s ribs, fingers curling in, because he can _feel_ the way Cas’s bicep twitches against his arm and he’s pretty sure that means Cas is touching himself now, is circling his cock with his slick, pretty fingers and getting himself good and hard and jesus _christ_ , Dean never in a million years thought he’d end up here.

Beneath his palm, he swears he feels Cas’s heart thud a little faster.

“Dean,” Cas mumbles, and Dean bites his lip, turning slightly, not quite rubbing his cheek against Cas’s hair but coming close, and _God_ does Cas smell good, like girly coconut shampoo and fuck, when this is all over, Dean’s packing up and putting Cas in the car and driving them both to the nearest beach to drink piña coladas and- “Dean, start.”

“Sorry,” he pants, quickly tightening his grip around himself, trying not to think too hard about the unmistakable wet, shuffling sounds coming from his right, and fuck, he _is_ hard, _really_ hard, and Cas is warm in his arms and he _does_ smell good and Dean can _hear_ him thrusting into his fist, and he wonders if that’s the pace Cas always likes, nice and slow and steady, or if Cas is just feeling too nervous to really get into it, because if he is, he _shouldn’t_ be, since Dean’s keeping his eyes shut like a good friend and he’s decided that actually, this isn’t weird at all, that now that he’s here, now that they’re tangled up and Dean’s working his hand over himself, carefully trying to match Cas’s rhythm, even more careful not to jostle him and mess up his groove, this is a really spectacular way to masturbate and since they’re spending all their other time together, it’s probably just _efficient,_ too.

Honestly, they should be jerking off together every goddamn _day_.

He squeezes Cas’s ribs once more and starts fisting his cock with purpose, trying not to picture Cas doing the same.

Cas’s breathing quickens on a gasp, turning to short, warm puffs of air against Dean’s throat, and he shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn’t, nearly fucked up the other week because he let his imagination run wild and forgot all about the fact that Cas could _hear_ him, but with his eyes shut tight and Cas’s skin warm beneath his hand, Cas’s scent in his nose, weight on his chest, Dean can almost pretend it’s _Cas_ sinking down around his dick, slick and tight and falling apart in his arms while Cas curls into his chest and frantically rides him, clinging and moaning, and when Dean accidentally jerks into his stroke, pushing his hips up and juddering against Cas in the process-

Cas fucking moans for _real._

Dean swallows, hand stilling over his cock.

“You okay?” he chokes out, and Cas nods against him, heart hammering beneath Dean’s palm.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and Dean shivers.

He takes a slow, deep breath. TV tells him girls like to sit on washing machines, and God knows Dean’s had some good times with the Magic Fingers feature on Motel beds during family roadtrips, when Sammy dragged Mom and Dad out to the pool the second it opened and Dean had the room to himself, and even though this isn’t going to be the same at all, is gonna be the difference between a steady tap on the glass and a fucking hammer, it still just seems right to _ask_.

“Did it – did it help?”

Cas just nods, breaths harsh against Dean’s throat, so Dean bends his knees, bracing his feet against the bed, and starts fucking into his fist with abandon, Cas crying out against him as the mattress bounces underneath them, and in his head he’s flipping them over and folding Cas in half and driving into him without mercy, and _God,_ it feels so fucking-

“Good?” Dean asks, unable to stop himself, even though he knows he needs to just _shut up,_ that he’s violating all kinds of bro code, here, but his eyes are closed and he can hear Cas, can _feel_ him, but he can’t see him and he can’t be sure and this is the closest thing he’s ever going to get to what he really wants, so he might as well just go for it.

“Yes,” Cas gasps out, and Dean turns to the left a little, brushing his cheek over Cas’s hair.

“Feeling better?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Cas hisses, trembling against him, and Dean just breathes in and keeps thrusting into his hand, keeps the mattress shaking. The skin on Cas’s ribs is turning clammy where it’s pressed to Dean’s, and Dean shifts his grip over it, squeezing, letting his thumb brush against Cas’s pec.

Cas makes a strangled noise, and suddenly, Dean feels a hand close around his bicep, Cas’s fingers digging in, and he just barely stifles a groan.

“Was really worried about you, today,” he whispers, slowing down a little, and he’s gratified to hear Cas do the same, feel his movements gentle right along with Dean’s, because he and Cas _are_ in this together, and neither one of them is gonna leave the other behind. “Didn’t know how to help you, and I hated it.”

“But you did,” Cas chokes out. “You did help me, Dean, you always do, even when you hurt me, you always – you always make it better.”

Dean shudders, burying his face in Cas’s hair and shamelessly breathing in, twisting his hand on the next stroke.

“When do I hurt you, Cas? You gotta tell me. I never – never wanna hurt you.”

Cas shakes his head, squirming up a little, and Dean thinks he feels his mouth brush his ear.

“You can’t help it,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

And that – that makes Dean sad, to think there’s something he does that hurts Cas, something he _can’t_ help, something that’s just a part of him, inherently toxic to someone he cares this much about, but then Cas’s grip on his arm tightens, pace quickening, and he’s groaning out Dean’s name, and Dean scrambles to catch up, curling his arm, trying to hold Cas a little closer as they move, Dean diligently rocking them, cataloging every soft groan and broken sound Cas makes against his throat, and when he feels Cas curl up a little tighter, sweat-damp shirts sticking between them, when he feels Cas’s lips against his throat as Cas’s body tenses, pulse a mad, erratic rhythm underneath Dean’s hand as his fingers clutch at Dean’s arm, nails digging in-

Dean’s eyes fly open, heart feeling like it’s about to explode right out of his chest.

The first thing he sees is Cas’s hand, tightly fisted in his lap.

The second thing he sees is the head of Cas’s cock, flushed red and leaking at the tip, pushing through the tunnel of his fist on the downstroke, Cas’s hips jerking wildly, a motion Dean can fucking _feel,_ and-

“ _Fuck_ ,” he snarls, thrusting up, _hard,_ all he can do not to twist whatever way necessary to just fucking _kiss_ the guy, to turn this from a comforting platonic wank session into the goddamn romance every stupid, pathetic cell in his body has been clamoring for the last two fucking years, and then Cas’s shaking stops and he goes rigid in Dean’s arms, head turning even further into Dean’s shoulder with a gasp like some kind of sexy, dark-feathered owl, and Dean just watches, utterly transfixed as Cas starts spilling all over his hand and-

And then he fucking _bites down_ on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean comes with a shout, just fucking _loses_ it, hips lifting off the bed and freezing there, his vision going white and his mind going blank and Cas’s teeth still sunk into his goddamn skin and he swears it’s a full fucking hour before he collapses back, finally spent, blinding ecstasy receding and Cas trembling against him, gasping for breath.

They lie there for who-the-hell-knows-how long, just panting into the silence, Cas’s hair sticking to Dean’s cheek, heart thundering underneath his palm, and Dean couldn’t speak even if he knew what to say, feels like he just went three rounds with a mack truck and he’s just waiting for someone to come scrape what’s left of him off the pavement.

Because Dean’s done a lot of things, with a lot of people, and none of them - none of them have ever felt quite as intimate as _that_.

He’s feeling so raw and wrung-out that when Cas abruptly pulls away, moving off of him, he fails to swallow the noise of dismay that leaves his throat.

Cas freezes, turning back to give him a strange look.

Dean has no idea what the fuck to say.

Wordlessly, Cas turns again, sliding out of bed, and Dean watches numbly as he walks away, wondering what he expects to be happening right now that isn’t, that’s making him feel kind of sad and anxious and disappointed, but then Cas just grabs a couple pairs of boxer-briefs off the laundry stack and comes back, tossing them onto the bed and reaching into his nightstand drawer.

He pulls out a packet of wet wipes, and Dean’s suddenly feeling _sick_ , is bracing himself to have one casually thrown at him, a silent command to clean himself up and pretend it didn’t happen, but once Cas is done wiping his hands, efficiently going over his soft cock and changing out his boxers while Dean stupidly looks on, he peels another one out of the package and turns to Dean.

Their eyes meet; Dean swallows, waiting for whatever’s about to happen like it’s some kind of verdict, and Cas abruptly looks down, frowning at the sheet.

And then he crawls forward and kneels beside Dean, reaching out, but instead of handing him the wipe-

He carefully grasps Dean’s wrist.

Slowly, Cas starts cleaning off his hand, the cool, wet wipe dragging over the crevice of his palm, slipping between his fingers, Cas as painstakingly thorough as he is gentle, and all Dean can do is stare dumbly until he’s finished.

Cas hesitates.

And then he pulls out another wipe, and after a brief pause, gaze flicking to Dean’s, he reaches for Dean’s lap.

Dean sucks in a breath, disbelieving, but his instincts aren’t wrong, and a moment later, the cool cloth brushes his stomach, sweeping down, Cas gingerly cleaning him up, touch light but no less attentive as he goes over Dean once, folding the wipe over and doing it a second time, almost – almost _reverent_ as he cleans Dean’s cock for him.

When he’s done, he reaches for the other pair of boxers, foiled pink and red hearts smothering the black background, and silently holds them out.

There’s something caught in Dean’s throat, something other than words, something profound and terrifying, and Dean hastily changes them out, tossing the others over the side of the bed and lying back, uncertain.

Cas just settles in against him once more, facing in this time, one leg thrown over Dean’s, and rests his palm on Dean’s chest, cheek against his shoulder.

Dean wonders if he can feel how fast his heart is still beating, if he thinks it’s weird, this long after Dean’s come.

Abruptly, Cas tilts his head.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and then he kisses Dean’s cheek and settles back again, reaching for the laptop.

Dean’s still staring at the top of his head, eyes wide, when Cas hits play.

Come bedtime, Dean doesn’t say a word, just tucks the laptop away and gets the light and then curls up around him. Cas should be worried about it, should be afraid tomorrow will just be a repeat of today, that this time there’s no way for it to end without Cas begging Dean to please _just fuck him,_ but he’s not.

Cas manipulated Dean into holding him while he masturbated, and then he _bit_ him when he came, and then he cleaned him up without quite asking permission, even though that’s _personal,_ is crossing all the lines Cas kept trying to tell Dean he couldn’t, and even if he meant it as an apology and thank-you both, he still should have stopped himself.

But he didn’t, and Dean still held him and brought him more soup as the hours wore on and now he’s in Cas’s bed, wearing Cas’s boxers, arm tucked around his waist and nose brushing the back of Cas’s neck, _spooning_ him like he doesn’t realize Cas just lies awake at night fantasizing about this very thing sometimes, like Cas didn’t have a complete meltdown and _use_ him, like Cas isn’t keeping him from taking care of his parents, of other people who must surely be more important, and Cas-

Cas lies there in the dark, wrapped in Dean’s arms, and realizes that regardless of how this all turns out, regardless of whether they’re still roommates in five years or Dean’s moved out and gotten married and started having gorgeous, freckled babies with an equally beautiful woman he’s madly in love with-

There’s no exit, here.

Cas _does_ love Dean.

And he’s going to love him, with everything he is, has been, or ever could be, until the day he ceases to exist at all.

“Good night,” he whispers into the dark, and Dean’s arm tightens around his waist, subtly tugging him closer.

“Good night,” Dean mumbles back, and because Dean, unexpectedly, has the patience of a saint, and the generosity of one, too, an endless wealth of goodness combined with a god-like form and the mental acuity of a golden retriever-

“I love you,” Cas adds, unable to see a reason not to, and Dean goes still.

Cas holds his breath, wondering if he was wrong about that last part, wondering if Dean is finally realizing now, understanding what he actually means.

“Me, too, Cas.” Dean shifts a little closer, lips brushing Cas’s hair. “Me, too.”

Cas breathes out.

And then he shuts his eyes, tucking himself back against Dean’s chest, and decides to worry about forever some other time.


	11. the helping hand incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: explicit sexual content, mutual masturbation, fingering, bottom!cas, please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Apologies for the wait, and the sudden increase in chapter count! This was supposed to be a very brief gag leading up to the next incident, and then it turned into an incident and interlude all on its own. Hopefully the next one will be up soon!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you’re all doing well! Please enjoy ♡

Morning dawns, sunlight soft and warm as it reaches the hallway and spills into the bedroom, and with consciousness comes a much harsher, more horrifying connection to reality.

Cas wakes up with his cheek plastered to the skin over Dean’s shoulder blade, Dean dozing obliviously beneath him, and his initial relief that no one has an erection this morning (at least as far as he can tell) is short-lived when he remembers _why_.

His quickly rolls away, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.

The _reason_ no one has an erection this morning is because they both came last night.

Because Cas, in a moment of appalling weakness, coerced his very good friend into masturbating with him.

Because Cas insisted that that same friend _hold_ him while said masturbation occurred.

Because Cas, in an utterly reckless fit of passion, _bit_ that friend while he was coming so hard he saw _stars._

Because Cas is, in fact, _the worst friend ever._

Slowly, he looks to the left. As if on cue, Dean sighs and shifts onto his side, burying his face in the pillow a little more as he resettles, and there, on his left shoulder, is an angry ring of red marks, unmistakable in their source.

And to make matters worse? The sight has Cas suddenly afraid he _will_ have an erection, after all.

He scrambles out of bed, fleeing to the bathroom to wash his face, heart pounding.

He _bit_ Dean. He _bit_ him! Cas doesn’t _bite_ people, in bed or out of it, and given that he is neither a vampire or a zombie or even just a possessive, territorial sort of lover, why _would_ he? Being bitten _hurts._ Having marks all over your neck and shoulders is _embarrassing_ (perhaps his own experiences are why Cas feels zero desire to leave them). They’re not teenagers at prom, eager to fumble out of various formalwear and have wildly mediocre sex in cramped spaces just because they finally have the chance (Cas assumes, based on media, that this is what happens at proms). They’re platonic _friends_ – well, they’re supposed to be – platonically taking care of one another during an incredibly stressful time, and because Cas is selfish and needy and Dean is endlessly kind and giving, they just so happened to also have a platonic masturbation session together.

 _Biting,_ however, is not platonic. There is absolutely no good reason to bite someone, let alone have that someone be a friend and roommate from whom you have already demanded far, far too much. All this time, Cas has harped on about boundaries and lines and other cute illusions he insisted on entertaining, when in _reality-_

He _has_ none.

Cas stews on it all through tea and coffee preparation, wondering if Dean, too, will wake up and have an epiphany, will feel the twinge in his shoulder and go _what the fuck?_ and then come announce that he’s going to his parents’ house where nobody’s going to try and _eat_ him.

Miserably, Cas swishes the teabag around the mug instead of taking it out, eyes unseeing.

What has he _done_?

“Mornin’, sunshine,” a rough, sleepy voice calls, and Cas jumps like a startled cat, whirling in horror, half-expecting to see Dean with a duffel-bag on his shoulder and his boots already tied, ready to skulk out the door to a better place, a place where he doesn’t get bitten or bad-touched or covertly lusted after by desperate creeps who can’t keep their hands or teeth or – worst of all – _feelings_ to themselves.

Dean’s not, though.

Actually, Dean is shirtless and barefoot, is scratching his beautiful, perfect tummy, hair rumpled and eyes not quite all the way open, and when he meets Cas’s gaze, he smiles.

“How you doin’?” he mumbles, eyes flicking away after a moment, searching, and when he sees the Batman mug on the counter, steam rising from the coffee within, his smile widens. “Thanks, buddy.”

In the kitchen light, the bite mark on his shoulder is even more obvious than it was in the bedroom, red and angry and stark against the skin. Cas just stares at it, helpless to do anything else, and waits for the shame to destroy him.

It doesn’t.

Actually, if anything, Cas feels even less ashamed than he did a moment ago. Dean reaches for the mug, oblivious, and instead of Cas wincing as the mark flexes with the movement, an unholy blemish on Dean’s perfect, golden, marvelously freckled skin, he finds himself remembering how-

 _Good_? Dean had asked, hot in his ear, low, rough voice like some sort of weapons-grade accelerant for the pending fiery disaster of Cas’s orgasm, and even now, the unexpected memory sends his embarrassment scattering.

Biting Dean was completely out-of-line, Cas thinks dumbly, transfixed by the sight, but good _God_ , there was a reason he did it.

“Hey. C’mere,” Dean says, and Cas tears his eyes away, looks back to Dean’s face, a chill running down his spine at the frown there. Dean abruptly sets his mug down on the counter, frown deepening, and when Cas fails to move, he starts toward him.

Which – of course. Dean _knows._ He knows why Cas bit him and why he wanted to be held while he jerked off and why he was utterly _crushed_ when he thought Dean was going to leave him behind and go to his parents. He knows, and he’s rightfully upset at being taken advantage of, and even though he wanted coffee first, he’s going to go back to his room and pack his bags and-

Dean reaches out, cupping is jaw, eyes troubled.

“Cas? You okay?”

Cas blinks, searching Dean’s face and finding nothing but worry.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” Dean repeats, enunciating slowly. “You kinda look like the news just said an asteroid’s gonna hit the city in twenty minutes and we’re all fucked.”

 _It might as well have_ , Cas thinks, opening his mouth to respond.

And then he catches sight of Dean’s forearm in his peripheral, of the five little red crescents in the skin.

“Did I do that?” he blurts out, horrified, and Dean blinks, surprised.

“Did you do – what?”

“Your arm,” Cas says frantically, half-expecting Dean to turn around and display a back covered in vicious red claw marks, although Cas is almost positive he didn’t have enough hands for that. “Did I really-”

Dean glances down, grip on Cas’s cheek tensing briefly as he takes in the damage.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. But – don’t worry about it.”

Cas blinks.

“Don’t _worry_ about it?” he echoes. In what way is he not supposed to worry about it? Dean looks like he was tenderly made love to by a whomping _willow_ , and given that to the best of his knowledge, Dean is about as receptive to Cas’s interest in him as he would be to actual amorous arboreal advances, Cas had no business making him that way.

“Yeah.” Dean pats his cheek and withdraws his hand, moving to lean against the counter beside Cas, somehow even closer than he was before. “Yesterday was kinda . . . intense for you. I get how it is.”

Cas swallows, searching his face.

Does Dean jerk off and bite his friends when he’s sad and anxious, too? Because if he doesn’t, how could he possibly ‘get’ how it is?

“Okay,” he manages. “I – sorry. That I did that.”

Dean smiles slightly.

“Like I said. Don’t worry about it.” He pushes off the counter, heading for the fridge. “Here, I’ll get the milk for your tea.”

He does, even pours it into the tiny pitcher and sticks it in the microwave, humming some nonsense as he waits, and when he’s finished, he brings it back over, patting Cas on the shoulder.

“Gonna play some cartoons while I read the news. You comin’?”

Cas takes a deep breath, forcing himself to nod.

“Uh. Yes.” He glances at the mark on Dean’s shoulder again, unable to help himself. “I’ll . . . be right there.”

And then he turns back to his tea, and once he’s put in his milk and Splenda and made his way to the sofa, hesitating only briefly before tucking himself under the arm Dean lifts in invitation, he comes to a decision.

If _Dean_ doesn’t think there’s anything out of the ordinary, well-

Neither should he.

Of course, it’s easier said then done.

If Cas thought being stuck in the apartment with Dean was hard before, it’s even harder now, now that Cas knows how it feels, his bare, sweaty skin stuck to Dean’s, body shaking with the force of Dean’s movements; how it feels to _come,_ wrapped up in Dean’s arms, Dean’s breath warm against his skin, right there with him as he finally finds release.

Dean behaves no differently than he did before, but that just means Cas _knows_ now, knows he can practically get away with murder and Dean will hardly bat an eye, will still offer him everything he did before without penalty. Cas tests the theory, snuggles close on the sofa, leans into his side while he’s at the stove, absently runs his hand over Dean’s stomach when they settle back in after breakfast , and D ean just _lets_ him.

And if _that_ weren’t bad enough, Cas can’t stop looking at that fucking bite mark, at the imprint of his nails in Dean’s skin, can’t stop remembering Dean’s voice in his ear, asking him if it was _good_ , if he was feeling better; and if _that_ was Dean being a good friend checking in, Cas is desperate to find out what Dean’s like when he’s actually fucking, when he’s checking in to make sure he’s making it good for you, words soft and dirty in your ear as he gives you everything you didn’t even know you wanted.

Cas is torn between wanting to plaster himself to Dean’s side and wanting to feign a stomach bug so he can hide in the bathroom to jerk off every other hour, and if he weren’t confident Dean would take that to mean Cas had contracted Covid from his run yesterday and their deaths were now imminent, he thinks he might.

It’s so _wrong,_ and Cas’s stomach turns with guilt every time he looks over and sees the marks he left, but at the same time . . .

He can’t help it.

There’s a little thrill there, too, because _Cas_ did that, and Dean just lay there and let him; and while that’s a testament to Dean’s indulgent nature rather than anything significant between them, it doesn’t change the fact that if there wasn’t a pandemic and Dean wasn’t terrified of going out and people wouldn’t have to stay one Sam Winchester’s length away from him when he did-

They’d look at that, at the red mark just to the side of Dean’s neck, at the five moons on his forearm, and they’d make some assumptions.

Assumptions about how he got them.

And if Cas happened to go out _with_ him-

Then he would be the person they assumed had left them there.

He would be the person they assumed Dean _belonged_ to.

 _Dean’s just a good friend,_ he tries to tell himself. Dean would have let any of his friends do that. In fact, Dean probably has friends who he would have let do even _more_. Cas was a complete wreck yesterday, and Dean was probably ready to do anything to try and fix it, because that’s just how Dean is and there’s no point reading anything else into it.

Still.

Cas looks at those marks, and as bad as he feels for leaving them . . .

It’s hard to take his eyes off.

It’s a good thing homework deadlines are extended, because Dean can’t focus to save his life.

First of all, his shoulder is sore, red and bumpy where Cas’s teeth went into it. Which, Dean doesn’t really have a . . . problem, with that, not exactly (though it seems a little unfair, somehow, even if Dean understands it wasn’t personal, understands that Cas probably does that to his pillow all the time and Dean’s shoulder just happened to be what was available instead), but second of all . . .

He can’t help but think there’s something not quite right about what happened yesterday.

He doesn’t regret it, not at all, but he feels like he’s somehow – _missing_ something. Like, that was a lot. That was – that was huge. That’s one for the books, something Dean’s never, ever going to forget, wouldn’t want to even if he could, and he thinks the enormity of the situation kind of blindsided him so much he didn’t really see it for what it was.

This morning, though – this morning, he’s forcing himself to set aside his weird feelings about intimacy and tenderness and a whole host of other stuff that doesn’t usually figure into his sexual encounters, never mind his platonic ones, and try to look at what that was from _Cas’s_ perspective.

And logically, he understands that Cas was sad and didn’t want to be left alone, and that Dean’s wayward boner just reminded him of a good way to make himself feel better, and that _because_ they’re friends, that was just the rational choice for handling – well, all of it, but _still . . ._

Dean can’t help it.

There’s something unresolved-feeling about it all, something he’s failing to see, and it – it’s _bugging_ him.

Anyway, it niggles at his mind all morning, and when Cas suggests a round of pilates at noon, Dean still hasn’t figured it out.

“Can I borrow another pair of shorts?” he makes himself ask, because as completely fucking stupid as they look, they _were_ more comfortable than a bulky pair of cotton sweats, and since Cas doesn’t give a shit what Dean looks like – has some sort of platonic equivalent of a kink for Dean’s pie-top, practically, given the way he was stroking it all morning – he figures he might as well.

For a moment, Cas doesn’t respond, and Dean starts to worry this is more of the mood from yesterday, but then he gives a short nod and abruptly turns, heading for his room.

“Of course, Dean. One moment.”

The white pair he brings back are even tinier than the red ones, and emblazoned on the ass-

“ _Angel_ wings?” Dean says, incredulous, holding them out in front of them. “Dude, where the hell did you even get these?”

“Meg,” Cas answers, watching him with what Dean would almost say was a _hopeful_ look, but unless Cas is looking for blackmail pictures, that doesn’t make any sense. “They, um. They’re very comfortable.”

“Oh.” Well, Dean _was_ going for comfort. “Yeah, alright. If you’re sure it won’t gross you out.”

Cas quickly shakes his head.

“You could never be gross to me, Dean.”

Dean stills.

“Oh.” He hesitates. “That, uh. That’s not what you said when I brought home that Elvis burger.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

“The things you _do_ are a different story. Go change.”

Anyways, it’s only when they’ve finished and Cas is dressed and out of the shower, bathroom door open to let out the steam, that it finally hits Dean, revelation like a high-speed train, so huge and obvious he doesn’t get how he possibly could have missed it in the first place.

He stands in the doorway, just staring while Cas obliviously continues on, elegant, graceful fingers deliberately pressing into the lotion jar, the index and middle ones doubled up to scoop out the last little bit of it.

“Remind me to order more of this,” Cas mutters, squinting at it in irritation as he sweeps them around the rim, and Dean swallows.

“Sure,” he manages to say, but the conversation barely registers.

Dean’s a fucking _idiot._

The problem is, he has no idea how to bring it up.

He knows he was too caught up in shock and his own self-interest yesterday to see it, but the blinders are off now, and there’s no getting around it.

Yesterday, he let Cas down.

It feels lousy, and as sweet as Cas was afterward, like Dean had somehow _done_ something for him, even though all he did was lie there and hold onto him like any decent friend would – as much as Dean got lost in his own feelings, in what things like that mean to _him-_

Cas must have been feeling a little deprived.

And yeah, Dean can understand how he didn’t see a solution for it, would certainly never ask _Dean_ to find one, and no, Dean didn’t exactly have a lot left over in his brain for logistics, at that point, but-

He still deserved better.

Cas was the one who forgave Dean for hurting him, even if Dean’s still not totally confident what he’s been doing wrong, and Cas is the one who gently cleaned Dean up, when Dean was terrified of getting iced out, still struggling to process what happened, and Cas is the one who kissed his cheek and thanked him and held onto him for practically the rest of the day.

Which means Dean owes it to him to be the one to provide.

He stews on it as they retreat to Cas’s bedroom, dinner in hand, and he stews on it some more when they reluctantly slip out from under the blanket to go clean the kitchen, and once they’ve climbed back into bed and turned on the show and Cas has curled up at his side, head lightly resting against Dean’s shoulder-

He’s pretty sure he knows what to do.

“Hey, I, uh, I forgot to ask,” he starts, soft, and Cas’s head turns slightly.

“Hm?”

“How – how are you today? I mean – how are you feeling? Okay?”

Cas blinks, swallowing.

“Oh. Uh. Yes,” he says. “Thank you. Sorry you had to – deal with me.”

“What? Why?”

Cas lifts his shoulders slightly, brushing against Dean’s.

“Just – I, um. I asked a lot from you.”

“Dude,” Dean says, frowning. “That was nothing. I told you, whatever you need, Cas – I’ll give it.”

Cas studies him for a moment, then smiles slightly.

“Thank you, Dean,” he returns, quiet, and Dean nods, relaxing a little.

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “Did it, uh. Did it help?”

Cas tenses.

“Spending the day in bed?” he asks after a moment, and Dean swallows.

“Yeah, that too.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks. “You’re referring to, um. Jerking off together.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

After a moment, Cas nods.

“It did. Thank you.”

“Sure.” Dean clears his throat. “Uh. Thank you, too. That – you know, that was – nice. I felt better, too.”

Cas softens a little, at that.

“I’m glad.”

“And . . . if you feel like that’s something you need again, or – I don’t know, you’re all set to go, but you don’t wanna be by yourself . . . I’m here. Just – just so you know.”

Cas’s brows lift.

“You’d . . . do that again?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, trying not to frown. “I mean – come on, man, there’s not a lot we can even do, during lockdown. If something’ll make you feel better and you can do it, you should.”

“Oh.”

“Although-” Dean starts, glancing away. He gets why Cas didn’t ask about it, yesterday; it just makes _sense,_ is the right thing for Dean to do, but putting it into words is just – it feels awkward, somehow, despite everything they’ve been through together.

“What?”

“I, uh. I felt bad. That – that probably wasn’t ideal for you, right? I think – you know, I think next time, we can do better.”

Cas just stares blankly.

“What . . . what do you mean?”

Dean shrugs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Just – don’t you usually . . . like, when you, uh, when you get off, don’t you like to . . .” He trails off, more embarrassed than he expected, and Cas just looks at him in confusion for a moment.

And then his eyes widen, breath hitching.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, relieved. “I just thought – maybe we could figure out a way for you to, uh, to get that.”

Cas swallows, just staring.

“I – I’m not sure it’s possible, if we’re – if we’re together, like we were.”

“Right, right,” Dean agrees, nodding. “Kinda hard for you to, uh, to reach.”

“It is,” Cas agrees, unblinking, and Dean takes a deep breath.

“But – you know, if you’re okay with it, I was thinking – I mean, assuming we even do that again – I could, uh. I could do it for you?”

For a moment, Cas just continues to stare.

“Do it . . . for me?”

Dean licks his lips.

“Yeah.”

“You mean . . . finger me.”

“Just since you can’t,” Dean says hastily. “I mean, I – I’m your friend, so I get it if that’s just – too weird for you, but I _am_ your friend, and if that’s the only way you get what you need without – shit, I don’t know, pulling a muscle – I can do it.”

He waits, but Cas just looks at him, blue eyes wide and lips parted, almost like he’s not really seeing Dean.

Dean winces internally, heat creeping up his neck. This was a stupid plan. Yeah, Cas likes that and he deserves to have it, but doing something like that to yourself is completely fucking different than having someone you’re not interested in do it, even if it is your best friend and you’re practically snuggle buddies, these days.

Dean’s an idiot _twice over,_ and he should have just kept his mouth sh-

“Okay.”

Dean blinks, mouth falling open.

“What?”

Cas hesitates.

“But what about you? How are you going to . . .”

“How’m I gonna what?” Dean manages to ask, still tripping over the ‘ _okay’_ he thinks Cas just gave him, an ‘okay’ that means ‘okay, Dean, you can put your fingers inside me and help me come,’ which is just – holy _shit._

Cas swallows.

“Touch yourself. If you’re touching me, and you’re holding me, I’m not sure how . . . but I don’t want to be the only one.”

“Oh.” Dean clears his throat. “That, uh. I had a couple ideas.”

“Okay,” Cas says slowly, watching him. “Such as?”

“Uh. Just . . . you could . . .”

Cas waits for a moment, and Dean knows he’s blushing, can feel how hot his face is, and he genuinely thought this was a good idea ten minutes ago, but-

“Let’s try it,” Cas says abruptly, and Dean just about swallows his own tongue.

“Oh. Okay.”

Cas nods, strangely determined.

“What should I do?”

It takes Dean a moment.

It was his own goddamn idea, and yet, he’s somehow shocked it’s actually happening.

“Oh. Yeah, just – um, how do you, uh – how do you like it best?”

Cas lifts his brows.

“How do I like what best?”

“You know. When you – what, uh, what position?”

Cas hesitates.

“On my knees.”

“Isn’t that – doesn’t it get uncomfortable?”

“Not if I’m doing the rest of it right,” Cas says slowly, and Dean’s heart stutters.

“Oh. That – that makes sense.” He clears his throat. “Why don’t you do that? However you usually like it. And I’ll – I’ll figure something out.”

For a long, long moment, Cas doesn’t move.

And then it’s like he sort of nods to himself.

“Alright.” He pauses. “I should – my boxers will be in the way.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, probably.” Dean clears his throat. “Good idea.”

Cas reaches for his waistband, smoothly pushing it down, and Dean politely averts his eyes.

Although-

“Do you usually – uh. Take off everything?”

In his peripheral, Cas pauses.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well. If you, you know. If you wanna do that, then . . . be my guest.”

There’s a brief silence.

“I – that seems weird.” Cas pauses, and Dean’s about to agree, embarrassed for suggesting it, when Cas continues, “Not if you aren’t, also.”

“Oh.” Dean takes a deep breath, pulse unsteady. “Yeah, that – that makes sense. I’ll just, uh. Yeah.”

He quickly tugs off his t-shirt, scrambling out of his boxers and sitting awkwardly, unsure.

“Should I get on my knees, now?” Cas asks, carefully looking at the bedspread, and Christ, it takes everything Dean has not to sneak a peek.

“Y-yeah. If that’s how you wanna do it.”

“Alright.” Cas slowly turns, kneeling, and then leans forward, arching a little as he gradually slides forward on his arms, and _fuck,_ Dean’s never going to be able to watch porn again, is gonna find even the most hardcore fucking in the sexiest of vintage vehicles with everybody dressed in Western gear about as titillating as old Bob Ross episodes, because this, Cas stripped down and getting into position, is the sacred vault of spank bank material and no other form of currency will net a payload after this. “Like this?”

Dean allows himself to look for just a couple seconds longer, and then nods.

“Yeah,” he confirms, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too weird. “Like that.”

“Alright,” Cas says again, shifting slightly. “The, um. The lube is underneath the pillow.”

“Right.” Dean blinks, trying to subtly draw in another breath, lungs feeling tight in a way he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with potentially fatal viruses. “Right, just – hang on.”

He fishes it out, hands shaking, and he can’t help it. His eyes go right back to Cas, the slope of his back, the tension in his biceps as he balances, the curve of his ass, those goddamn _thighs,_ and while this is obviously the best idea Dean’s ever had in his life, it’s also the fucking worst.

Dean wonders if you can come untouched just from how fucking hot your roommate looks, naked on his knees and ready to take your fingers.

“How, um, how are you going to be?” Cas asks, and Dean fumbles the bottle halfway through getting the cap off.

“Oh, I thought I’d – you know, kind of just – uh . . .”

“Show me,” Cas instructs, glancing over his shoulder, and Dean quickly nods.

“Yeah, of course, lemme just, uh, you know, I’ll-” Cas squints, and he scrambles forward, settling one knee in between Cas’s calves, just behind him and to the side, so he can get close enough to provide the snuggle Cas is looking for – which is the whole point of Dean being the extra hand, so to speak – but will also be angled enough so his dick doesn’t touch him.

He’s pretty sure that would make it weird.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just make sure things are – are going okay, for a minute, and then I’ll kind of – I thought I’d lean on you,” he says, just so Cas knows he didn’t forget, that he’s still going to come through with the cuddle as promised.

Cas is quiet for a moment.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Great.” Dean clears his throat. “But you can – you know, start.”

“Right.” Cas hesitates. “May I please have some lube?”

He shifts to one elbow, stretching his hand underneath himself, palm up, and Dean hastens to give it to him.

“Yeah, sorry. Um. Anything I should know, before I, uh, before I do this? About how you usually do it, I mean.”

“Not really,” Cas says slowly. “Um. You don’t have to worry about going too slowly, since I do this often.”

“Oh.” Dean tries not to be disappointed. He was sort of looking forward to taking his time, although he’s not sure he’ll be _able_ to last that long.

Of course, it’s not like they’re having sex, so Cas doesn’t really care how fast Dean comes, but they _are_ doing it together, and Dean would still kind of like to stay in sync.

And even if Cas is never going to actually have sex with him, Dean doesn’t really like the idea of him going around thinking Dean has no staying power, because that – that’s just embarrassing, from a personal-pride perspective.

“You can, though. I, um. I like to take my time. I just don’t want your hand to cramp.”

“What? Oh, no, my – my hand’ll be fine. I mean, I’ve spent _ages_ working under Baby, toolin’ around with tiny screws and stuff, I’m used to it.” He clears his throat. “So don’t worry about me, I could, uh, I could do this for hours, probably.”

Cas twitches at that, for some reason.

“Well, um. That – that’s probably not necessary.”

“Right, right, just – I’m just saying, you know, I’ll be fine. Just let me know what to do.”

“Alright. Uh . . . just – follow your instincts, I suppose.”

Dean politely doesn’t point out where his instincts are ultimately going to try to lead him, and figures he knows what Cas means.

“Yes, sir,” he jokes, half-saluting, and Cas’s lips quirk. “Lemme just get some lube and I’ll, uh, get right on that.”

Cas nods, turning back away, and Dean tries very, very hard not to follow the path of his hand as it moves between his legs.

He distracts himself with pouring a generous amount into his other palm, and once he’s awkwardly recapped the bottle and tossed it aside, he rubs his hands together, getting the fingers on his right nice and wet.

He can’t believe he’s actually going to do this.

He can’t believe Cas is _letting_ him.

“You ready?” he croaks out, and Cas nods, arching a little more. Dean hopes he’s making as much of an effort not to look at Dean as Dean is not to look at him, or else he might be wondering why exactly Dean’s already this hard. “Okay. Uh. You go ahead, and I’ll just . . .”

He pauses, and Cas snorts.

“I don’t usually talk to myself this much,” he murmurs, and Dean’s face heats.

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Cas adds softly, and then he shifts a little and Dean can _hear_ him take himself in hand, hear the tiny little intake of breath when he does so, and he hastily brings his hand up, toward Cas’s ass.

And then, with a deep breath, for courage or for willpower or what the hell ever a guy usually needs to be able to casually finger the other guy he’s in love with till he comes-

Dean reaches out, gently slipping a finger between Cas’s cheeks.

Cas sucks in a breath, a much harsher one this time, but he pushes back just slightly, like an encouragement, so Dean slides it further down, biting back a small noise when he feels the tip of it brush against Cas’s entrance.

“Oh, fuck,” he thinks he hears Cas whisper, but it also could have been a cough or a sneeze, and since he’s not putting out any negative signals-

Dean slowly starts circling his finger. It slips easily over the furled muscle, and Dean’s heart feels like it’s about to jump right out of his chest, stomach tight as he feels his way around, wishing he was allowed to look, was allowed to pull apart Cas’s cheeks, to watch himself touch him, watch Cas open up for it.

But there’s rules for these things, and Dean respects Cas too much to break them, so he carefully keeps his eyes on the headboard and focuses on the sensation beneath his finger, feeling him out, hoping he’s doing it the way Cas likes.

Cas’s breathing quickens, and he ducks his head, pushing into it a little more. Dean can’t see, but he swears he can feel him start to give beneath his finger, like he _is_ opening for it, because Cas does this to himself often and his body knows what it’s like and it knows what this means and it _wants_ it.

“Can I-” Dean starts, and Cas quickly nods.

“Yes,” he says breathlessly. “Yes, you can.”

Holding his breath, Dean slowly presses the tip of his finger in, heart pounding as it slides easily, further than he meant to go. Cas makes a small sound and Dean stills, glancing toward the back of his head, worried.

“Is that – are you okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says immediately. “Yes, I – just – I’m okay. Keep going.”

As carefully as he can, Dean pushes further in, slowing when he meets resistance.

“Oh, God,” Cas mutters, and Dean pauses, uncertain. “You – your fingers are bigger than mine. I didn’t think of that.”

“Oh. Uh, sor-”

“It’s fine,” Cas interrupts. “Just – a surprise. Proceed.”

After a beat, Dean wriggles it in a little further. Cas tightens around it, briefly, and Dean tries not to think too hard about how that feels, how hot Cas is inside, tries not to file it away for later when he’s fisting his cock and inevitably thinking about how Cas would feel wrapped around it.

Cas relaxes, then, and Dean glides the rest of the way in, lightly pressing against his walls.

There’s a moan, at that, and even though Dean’s not doing anything Cas wouldn’t be doing himself, is honestly just lending a helping hand, he can’t help but feel like he _caused_ that moan, and there’s a rush of heat in his gut.

He slides his finger out a little and lightly thrusts back in, and in his peripheral, he sees Cas’s shoulders draw tight.

“Good?” he can’t resist asking, eager for some sort of reaction, wishing he was allowed to watch Cas’s face for this, and Cas bobs his head.

“Y-yes,” he stammers out, wiggling a little, and oh _God,_ Dean can feel that, feel Cas moving around his finger, and he unconsciously works it in a little faster, a little harder.

Cas chokes out a gasp, and Dean closes his eyes, blood rushing in his ears.

“Dean,” Cas says, hoarse, and Dean pauses, finger buried to the knuckle.

“Yeah?” he asks, leaving it there, the tip rubbing slowly, and the way Cas clamps down around him in response-

“Are you – are you touching yourself?”

Honestly, Dean’s harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life, and he’s not totally sure touching himself is _safe._

“Not yet,” he manages, eyes still shut tight, all his focus reserved for the task literally at hand. He curls his finger slightly, slowly withdrawing, and Cas hisses. “How’re you doing?”

“Waiting,” Cas pants. “You said – you said you were going to lean on me.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, swiftly pressing back in, and the way Cas jerks into it is just- “Just – just wanna make sure you’re good like this.”

There’s silence for a moment, Dean steadily pushing in and out, Cas subtly rocking back into it, and then Cas takes a deep breath.

“I am. Normally, I’d – I’d put in the second one, by now.”

Dean swallows, mouth dry.

“Okay,” he says faintly, and then he pulls out most of the way, resting the tip of his finger just inside of Cas’s entrance as he uncurls another to join it, and with a fortifying breath-

He slowly eases the second one in, feeling Cas’s rim stretch around the intrusion.

“Oh, God,” Cas groans. “Oh, God – Dean-”

Dean shudders, struggling to keep his eyes closed, struggling not to settle back on his heels and just fucking watch, watch his fingers disappear into the tight heat of Cas’s body, watch Cas’s hole grasp and flutter around them in hungry welcome, because this is not about Dean or what Dean wants or what Dean desperately would like to witness, just once in his life.

Dean is just unobtrusively helping out, totally, one-hundred percent altruistic in aiding a friend. He just wants Cas to feel safe and comfortable and cared for so he can have a really good orgasm and not feel quite so sad and anxious about everything, and if Dean has to ignore his own overwhelming lust and deviant sentimentality for that to happen, then he can do that.

He bites his lip and thrusts his fingers a little deeper, swallowing a whimper when Cas _clenches,_ uttering a soft, indiscernible curse.

“Too much?”

“No,” Cas protests immediately, and after a moment, takes a deep breath and relaxes. “Won’t be enough in a minute.”

Before Dean can even process that, Cas abruptly snaps his hips back, Dean’s fingers sinking in a couple more inches before he can stop them, and Cas moans, long and loud.

“Shit,” Dean mutters, lightheaded.

“I’m good now,” Cas says roughly, and only when he starts rocking his hips, drawing Dean further in, breaths harsh in the silence of the room, does Dean realizes what he means.

He quickly opens his eyes, not daring to look down at his hand, and scoots his knees a little further in, hoping to keep most of his weight off of Cas while they do this.

Then he carefully lowers himself, pressing his chest to Cas’s bare back as Cas shudders underneath him. Dean swallows, gently propping his chin against Cas’s spine as he works his fingers in the rest of the way, transfixed by the play of muscle in Cas’s back as he eagerly pushes into it.

“This okay?” he whispers, and Cas shivers again, shoulders tensing.

“Yes. Are you going to touch yourself now?”

“Uh. No,” Dean admits. “I, uh. This is a little more . . . angle’s not good,” he finally settles on, and Cas stills, twisting to look over his shoulder, brow creased.

“I don’t want to be the only one.”

“You won’t,” Dean promises. “I’ll just – let’s get you taken care of, and then I’ll go.”

Cas hesitates.

“But . . .”

Dean licks his lips, shifting a little further up Cas’s back, and spreads his fingers slightly, tentatively stretching.

Cas’s eyes widen, and it’s like a fucking lightning bolt of heat, right through Dean’s core, dick throbbing where he’s carefully trying to keep it out of touching distance.

“Trust me,” he whispers, and instead of touching himself, instead of giving his aching cock the attention it’s screaming for, the attention that’ll probably mean he ends up embarrassing himself all over Cas’s nice navy blue bedspread, Dean slips his free arm around Cas, right over his diaphragm, and ever-so-slightly tugs him back.

Cas’s mouth drops open, and Dean tries for a reassuring smile.

“We’ve got this, buddy. Just relax.”

Cas blinks, then shuts his mouth.

And then he abruptly turns his face away, eyes shut.

“Okay.”

Dean lets out a quiet breath, working his fingers a little faster, and Cas’s hips start moving again, hole spasming around the digits as Dean scissors and strokes inside of him, reveling in the myriad sensations, Cas hot and tight around his fingers, back warm and sweat-damp against Dean’s chest, heart racing and chest heaving behind Dean’s arm. Dean’s hand still has lube on it, is slipping a little where he’s gripping Cas’s stomach, but Cas doesn’t complain and Dean sure as hell doesn’t care and when Cas suddenly moves his arm and Dean realizes he’s reaching to start stroking himself again, he can’t help a small groan.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, right against Cas’s spine, and Cas jerks. “Touch yourself, Cas.”

Cas’s head drops, some inarticulate sound escaping him, and then he’s shifting slightly and Dean can _hear_ him take himself in hand, can feel the way he thrusts forward and shoves back, jostling Dean in the process, and as much as Dean’s so hard he feels like he could die from it, a part of him thinks he’d be happy not to come at all if it meant he could just have Cas like this for the night, could slowly work him to the edge again and again until he finally got to just watch him tumble right over, wrecked and gasping in Dean’s arms, at Dean’s hands.

Or at least, at one of them.

“Good?” he mumbles, and Cas shakes his head, causing Dean to freeze. “No? What’s wrong?”

“More,” Cas chokes out. “If – if I were doing it, I’d-”

Dean draws out, spreading his fingers wide, and brings a third finger to Cas’s entrance, wriggling it in alongside them.

Cas cries out.

Blood rushes to Dean’s dick so fast he’s surprised there’s any left for his brain.

“Like that?” he asks, pressing inside a little, and Cas squirms around him, shoulders trembling.

“Yes, yes, like that, Dean, that – that’s good, that’s so good-”

A violent thrill crashes through him at the praise, and Dean starts pushing in with short, gentle thrusts, Cas flexing around him, hips circling, breaths ragged as his shoulders draw nearly to his ears.

“You sure it’s not too much?” Dean can’t help but ask, and Cas shudders.

“No, it’s not – it’s – more, give me more, I can take more-”

Dean grits his teeth, shutting his eyes and shifting to rest his forehead against Cas’s back.

Then he pushes his fingers in, _hard,_ and Cas gasps, arching.

Dean takes a deep breath and draws them out, twisting his wrist as he goes. Cas twists with him, the movement of his arm stuttering, and Dean thrusts back in, struggling not to make any noise. Cas knows he’s not even touching himself, after all. There’s literally no reason for Dean to be panting and moaning and shaking apart just because he’s operating as an auxiliary hand for his buddy while he gets off.

“Oh, god,” Cas mumbles, trembling. “Dean-”

And yeah, Cas is tight, but he’s adjusting quick, is opening right up for Dean’s fingers, slick and easy as Dean works them in and out, and Dean can’t help but speed up a little, enchanted by the sound of it, burying them as deep as they can go before swiftly retreating, only to dive right back in.

Cas is outright shoving back now, tiny, cut-off noises tumbling out of his throat, and on instinct, Dean spreads his fingers slightly as he pulls out again.

Cas hisses and collapses forward, Dean nearly losing his balance behind him as buries his face in the pillow.

Dean pauses, sliding his arm out from under Cas to rest a palm on Cas’s sweat-slick back, worried.

“Cas?”

“Don’t stop,” comes a muffled command, Cas’s fingers curling into the pillow on the left side of his head. “I’m fine, just – don’t stop.”

So Dean quickly starts moving his hand again, picking up the pace, drunk on the sight of Cas, face pressed into the pillow and fingers clutching at the fabric of the case, his other hand disappeared underneath him as he jerks himself, fucking into his fist and back onto Dean’s fingers, and since Cas is at too much of angle for Dean to lie over him at all, Dean just plants his palm high up on Cas’s back and curls his fingers over his shoulder, gripping him tight to let him know that Dean’s there and he’s got him and they’re in this together.

Cas moans, hips stuttering, and then he’s frantically shoving back, grunting into the pillow while Dean diligently keeps thrusting into him, leaning into the hand on Cas’s back a little for balance, and then Cas’s arm starts moving faster and Dean’s wrist is aching and Cas is suddenly tightening, a vise around his fingers, to the point that Dean can barely keep pulling them out, and when Dean thrusts back in anyway, shifts the angle of his wrist and _pushes,_ rubbing inside of him-

Cas’s body seizes up and he turns his face to the other side and lets out a sound Dean is never, ever going to forget.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, eyes wide, desperately wishing Cas had turned the other way, turned so Dean could see him, could see how he looked when he was coming, brought to release in some part through Dean’s efforts, but he didn’t and he’s shaking, twitching around Dean’s fingers, and Dean hasn’t touched himself once but he swears he almost goes right over just from the sight and feel of it.

“Dean,” Cas pants. “Dean, you – you need to-”

Dean shakes himself, remembering his promise, and pulls his fingers out, wiping them off on his discarded t-shirt before reaching for Cas’s hip, holding on for balance as he straightens up and takes his other hand off Cas’s shoulder, wasting no time before wrapping it around his dick.

“Ohhh, fuck,” he moans, jerking into his hand, instinctively squeezing Cas’s hip as bliss washes over him. He’s not going to last, but he doesn’t want to, is desperate to come and collapse at Cas’s side, basking in the afterglow with him, so he grips himself firmly and thrusts into his fist without preamble, eyes falling shut with a groan. “God, yes – Cas-”

Cas makes some sort of noise in response, but Dean is lost, fucking into his hand, artless and frantic and caring not at all as he imagines pressing forward, imagines spreading Cas’s cheeks and sliding between them, thrusting in and fucking into his loose, wet hole, Cas squirming and oversensitive and clutching at the blanket while Dean held his hips and pounded into him-

He moans, thumbing the head of his cock, heart beating so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t given out, struggling to catch his breath as he chases the finish line, and God, he’s so close, he’s so fucking close and Cas felt so good and he looked so good and he sounded so good and fuck, _fuck,_ he _came,_ he came and Dean was a _part_ of that, and Dean can’t – he’s gonna -

“ _Fuck,_ ” he swears, pushing into his fist once, twice more, grip tight on Cas’s hip, and then he _comes,_ eyes flying open just in time to watch himself spill over the small of Cas’s back, Cas going rigid as it paints his skin. Dean sucks in a breath, jerking into his hand at the sight of his own release on Cas’s skin, slowly gathering toward the dip in his spine, and with a moan, he finishes, another spurt landing a little higher up, obscene where it spatters against Cas’s pretty, unblemished skin.

He shudders, staring, fingers still curled around Cas’s hip, right hand loosening over his cock. He feels like he just sprinted ten miles, and only when Cas slowly turns his head, craning to look over his shoulder, does Dean realize what he’s done.

“Shit,” he whispers, horror washing over him. Cas stares at his back for a moment, eyes wide, and then looks at Dean. “Sorry – fuck, I’m sorry, I just-”

“It’s fine,” Cas interrupts, sounding hoarse, and Dean stares, wanting to believe him but at a loss as to how that could be _fine,_ because they’re not fucking and even if they were, Dean didn’t even _ask,_ just held Cas still and came all over him and- “We, um. We’re both . . . men. I understand how it is.”

Dean swallows, blinking.

If Benny or Garth or any other man in the world, friend or not, ejaculated all over Dean’s back without so much as a goddamn warning, Dean doesn’t care _what_ they were doing beforehand, there would be words and possibly even some fists (the unsexy kind), depending.

“Uh. How – how is it?”

Cas hesitates.

“You’re not used to doing this with a friend,” he finally says. “When you’re – by yourself, it’s very easy to get caught up. You forgot you were with me – right?”

Like – Dean definitely forgot _himself_ , but the whole reason it happened was _because_ he was with Cas, because he just helped Cas come and heard the sound he made and had him right in front of him, skin warm underneath his palm, every one of Dean’s favorite sexual fantasies come to life, and Dean was so focused on finishing so he could clean them up and snuggle and relish the sense of having been a part of Cas’s pleasure, he forgot to turn to the side and try and catch the mess with his hand like a fucking polite person.

“I. Uh. Yeah? I just – I -”

Cas nods slowly.

“Wet wipes are in the nightstand,” he offers, and Dean gulps, hastily crawling toward it, fumbling them out of the drawer.

“Yeah, I’ll – I’ll clean you up, I’m really sorry about that, I just, uh-”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas interrupts, eerily calm as he straightens out his legs, settling flat on his stomach, still _covered in Dean’s come._ “I didn’t mind.”

How the fuck could Cas be _fine_ ? How could Cas not _mind_?

Like, sure, Dean wouldn’t bat an eye if Cas came on _him,_ might spontaneously come himself, just from the idea that Cas would even want to, but Dean’s also stupidly in love with Cas and would take him any way he could get him at this point, and since Cas doesn’t feel the same-

There’s literally no reason for him to be _fine_ with this.

“Yeah, but – but that was – that was really rude, Cas.”

Cas shrugs.

“You’re my best friend, Dean,” he says quietly. “We, um. We’re allowed to be a little rude with each other.”

Dean just stares for a moment, at a loss, because there’s a difference between making a joke in poor taste or borrowing a hoodie without asking and _coming all over someone’s back._

He numbly peels a wipe out of the package and reaches toward Cas, trying not to seem too much like he’s getting rid of the evidence. Cas shivers when it touches his skin, and Dean pauses, gentling the pressure of his hand over Cas’s spine.

“You okay?”

Cas nods, shifting a little.

“Just – cold. But it feels nice,” he adds quietly. “Thank you.”

Like Dean was gonna make _Cas_ clean up.

“Sure.” He pauses as he nears the divot at the end, glancing toward the back of his head. “And . . . you’re, uh. You’re doin’ okay? Otherwise? I wasn’t . . . you know. Too rough, or anything?”

Cas is silent for a moment.

And then he twists, looking over his shoulder with dark eyes, a look that makes Dean’s breath catch.

“No,” he says evenly. “You did it just the way I like it.”

Dean swears to God he feels his dick twitch.

“Oh,” he manages, faint. “Okay. Awesome.”

Cas looks at him another second, and then he suddenly starts turning, settling on his back, arms loosely splayed at his sides, and Dean can’t help it. His eyes instinctively drift down, down past the mess on Cas’s stomach to where his cock is nestled, spent and soft, at least partially at Dean’s hands.

“Do you mind?” Cas asks, and then wiggles his hips slightly, Dean’s stomach doing something strange and swoopy in response.

“Uh. Mind . . . what?” Is Cas – is he asking Dean to get him hard again? Does he think he _can_ ? Twenty-two or not, Dean usually needs at least a _brief_ interlude before he’s ready for round two – especially after a round one like that – but maybe this shit varies and Cas has a superhumanly short refractory period and he wants Dean to-

Cas clears his throat, abruptly sitting up.

“Sorry. Never mind,” he mumbles, and then suddenly he’s reaching for the wet wipes, tugging one free and bringing it to his stomach.

“Oh,” Dean says, instinctively reaching out, covering Cas’s hand with his own. Of _course_ that’s not what Cas meant. “No, you’re right, let me.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to-”

“No, no, no,” Dean protests, squeezing Cas’s hand where they’re both pressing the cloth to his navel. “I got this. Let me.”

Cas hesitates, and just to make his point clear, Dean brings his other hand up to Cas’s chest, gently pushing back.

“Just relax. I’ve got you. Boxers in the top drawer of the dresser, right?”

Cas slowly nods, and Dean presses a little more firmly, until he feels Cas give, lying back against the bed. After a beat, Cas lets go of the wipe, arm settling at his side as he silently watches Dean.

Taking a deep breath, Dean carefully finishes cleaning him, Cas twitching under his hand from the cold.

“Okay,” he says, once he’s done. “Lemme do me and then I’ll get us some clean underwear.”

When he’s finished, he tosses the wipes in the trash can and crawls off the bed, going for the top drawer and grabbing the Easter bunnies and fireworks before quickly making his way back. His legs are still unsteady, pulse not quite settled, and it’s a relief to sit down again.

Cas has moved to the side – probably away from the wet spot he made, you know, when Dean helped _make him come –_ and is propped against the pillows now, looking expectant.

“Easter or Fourth of July?” Dean asks, suddenly a little breathless. That was just – two friends getting off together, no different than those weird, uncomfortable porn viewings in high school, and even if Dean feels like he just had awesome sex and is coming back to bed to cuddle with someone he _adores,_ he did not, and he needs to not act like it or else he’s going to end up making it weird for Cas when the whole point of this was to make it _good._

The corner of Cas’s mouth quirks up.

“Easter. I’m not feeling especially patriotic, somehow.”

Dean laughs, ignoring his racing heart, and tosses the bunnies over.

“What, so you’re feeling religious?”

Cas shakes his head, sitting up a little to wriggle into them.

“The rabbits are a pagan symbol, Dean.”

“Paganism is a religion,” Dean protests, slipping the others on, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“Fine, then they’re a commercial symbol, in this context. Now come back to bed. I’m getting cold.”

Dean’s heart trips violently, at that.

And even though he _knows_ that this is just Cas, matter-of-fact and blunt and unconcerned with social mores, genuinely feeling cold and deciding the nearest acceptable solution is to have Dean warm him-

Dean is young and stupid and very, very much in love, so he takes a running leap onto the bed and wrestles Cas underneath the blanket, relishing the way his startled sounds turn to laughter.

And once the laptop is set up and Cas is in his arms once more, Dean decides that just for now, just for a little while -

It’s okay to pretend.


	12. interlude #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: brief references to past Cas/Meg and Cas/Balthazar, fingering, bottom!Cas, sacrilegious humor (implied sex act involving Jesus), implied/referenced blowjobs, implied/referenced use of sex toys, please let me know if I forgot anything.
> 
> Note: There is a thought in here about using a toy on someone seeming less personal; that perspective changes, and just to be clear, sex can be very impersonal or very personal or anything in between, regardless of what kind it is or what parts/tools are used to perform it.
> 
> I didn’t want to have a chapter this long, but I didn’t think splitting it up achieved much; I apologize! Thank you very much for reading, and please enjoy ~~their rapidly deteriorating mental states~~! ♡

It’s a good thing Cas has seen this show before, because the next couple of hours pass in a complete fog, Dean’s bare skin warm against his, hands in Cas’s hair and on his hip like they’re physically keeping him in his post-orgasm daze indefinitely.

That, Cas thinks, Dean’s stomach smooth beneath his own palm, was hands-down the best sex he’s ever had in his entire life.

It’s unfortunate, really, that it wasn’t actually sex.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, after what feels like minutes and hours both, and it takes Cas a moment to respond, head still muzzy and body still experiencing a low, languid thrum of pleasure, every slight shift in Dean’s arms a potent reminder of what just happened to it. “Cas?”

“Yeah?” Cas manages, slowly tilting his head up. Dean’s chest and shoulder feel _incredible_ against his cheek, and he just barely resists the temptation to nuzzle into them, because if he lets his face do it, then the rest of his body is going to want to, too, and humping someone’s leg is probably bad cuddling etiquette no matter how good a friend they are.

Besides, even if Cas can somehow get away with asking for that again (assuming Dean’s not about to tell him ‘that was a pretty weird thing we just did, huh, man? Maybe we _shouldn’t_ get naked with each other anymore’), he certainly doesn’t have the cheek to ask for it twice in one night.

“Last night. You, uh. You said I hurt you.”

Ah. Cas has always had excellent self-control in sexual encounters – too much, Meg and Bal had both complained – and as much as he was open to the idea of losing his head so completely he gave anything and everything away, it never happened.

Cas really, really wishes it still hadn’t.

“Um. I . . . I didn’t mean it _seriously_. And I told you – you always make up for it.”

Dean nods slowly.

“Okay. But – it kinda – it sounded serious? And I don’t want to make _up_ for it, I want to just – stop. I don’t wanna hurt you in the first place.”

Cas looks back down, struggling for some sort of explanation he can actually share.

“Just . . . I guess – you don’t always think about what you’re doing. Like we talked about after the pizza,” he adds. “When you worry – not just about me – you can get . . . you’re a little controlling. Temperamental, even.” He clears his throat. “Which, much as we all understand that it’s just an expression of your own anxieties and concern for us, having someone try to restrict you is difficult.”

Having someone too thick-skulled to realize how badly you want them tease you with rough, full-body contact is also difficult, but given that Dean draped himself over Cas’s back and fingered him until he came a couple hours ago, Cas thinks it’s fair to say he more than made up for that particular hurt.

Cas _would_ like to be able to go on a walk without worrying he’ll send Dean into a doom spiral, though.

He feels Dean nod.

“Sure. I – get that, I guess, although I still think – well, anyway.” There’s a long pause. “But . . . is that it?”

Cas swallows.

“Yes.”

Still, he can feel Dean holding his breath.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He’s sorry if Dean’s worried about it now, but under no circumstances is he about to tell him that Cas is desperate and lovesick and everything Dean does – pandemic paranoia notwithstanding – just makes Cas want him more.

There’s a long silence.

“Okay,” Dean finally says. “But – if there’s something else I’m doing, that I don’t realize – you can tell me.”

Cas shifts, finally looking at him, and tries for a reassuring smile.

“I know. But, as I told you, Dean-” he adds, catching his eye, serious. “You make up for it. You give me so much that the rest of it – it doesn’t matter.”

Dean just looks back at him, troubled and searching, before he finally takes a deep breath, softly pushing his fingers through Cas’s hair.

“Okay. If you say so.”

“I do.” Cas turns slightly, and after a beat of hesitation, lightly brushes his mouth against the corner of his jaw. “Watch the show, Dean.”

Still, Cas struggles to focus.

Or rather, he focuses fine, just – not on the show.

No, the more time that passes, the harder it gets for his brain not to rewind, slipping back into the memory of Dean’s chin propped between his shoulder blades, Dean’s arm around his waist, Dean’s thick, calloused fingers pushing into him, expertly twisting and curling and obliterating every paltry fantasy his mind had ever conjured with the sheer, blinding perfection of reality.

And when Cas had pitched forward into his pillow, completely overcome, and Dean had held onto his shoulder like that-

“Cas? You, uh. You okay?”

Cas swallows, blinking as he returns to the present, surprised to find himself slowly drawing his palm back and forth across the smooth, soft skin of Dean’s stomach, pinky brushing along the waistband of his boxers.

“Uh. Yes.” He shifts, suddenly very conscious of the ache in his groin, and freezes at the friction of Dean’s thigh across it.

Maybe Dean won’t notice?

“Okay,” Dean says, a little strained. “Just – you keep, uh, shifting around, and you seem . . .”

Cas abruptly stops stroking Dean’s stomach, realizing how that might seem a little weird.

“Seem what?” he asks neutrally.

Dean’s silent for a moment, and Cas glances toward the laptop screen, wondering if he got distracted.

“Are you hard, Cas?” he finally asks, and Cas gulps.

“Uh.”

“’Cause – we can take care of that. If you need to. Might, uh. Might be rough, trying to fall asleep, if you’re all . . . keyed up.”

It’s embarrassing, because Dean got him off last night, and a few hours ago, and Cas has no business still being ‘keyed up,’ but Dean _did_ get him off, touched him in ways he thought he’d only ever dream about, and rather than satisfying Cas’s persistent, singular desire in any way-

It’s mostly just making him want _more._

“I . . . don’t want to bother you.”

“What? No, it – it’s not a _bother._ I mean, if I were sleeping by myself, I’d probably go ahead and do something before I went to bed, anyway.”

“Oh. Uh. If you’re sure . . .”

“Yeah, totally,” Dean says quickly, then clears his throat. “Although, uh. Maybe – maybe we should try something different, this time?”

“Different?” Cas echoes, much harder than he should be and a little bit shocked that this is going to happen _again._ “What do you mean?”

Dean hesitates, hand still lightly stroking at Cas’s hair.

“That was – it was kind of awkward, you know?”

Cas tries, he really does, but he can’t help the rush of disappointment at that. Of course fingering your best friend is _awkward._ Cas might not have a huge wealth of experience, not with sex or friendship, but nothing in even Gabriel’s wildest stories suggests that Dean doing what he did was a reasonable occurrence.

It’s certainly not something that should probably happen _twice._

“Absolutely,” Cas makes himself say, resolutely shoving the feeling down, and Dean nods.

“We should, uh, we should try a different position.”

“No, I completely ag-” Cas shuts his mouth, blinking. “I – what?”

“We don’t have to,” Dean adds, free hand awkwardly scratching behind his ear. “We can try that again, maybe see if I can do better, but-”

“What position were you thinking?” Cas asks, a little breathless, craning to look at him, and Dean hesitates.

“Just . . . maybe we could . . . I thought – you could sit on my stomach? So I’d still be able to reach your, uh, and I can – you know, help you out, but then you could just lie forward on my chest while you did your thing and . . . unless you think it’d be _weird,_ especially ‘cause we’d probably end up looking at each other, even though I swear I’ll try not to, so . . .”

Dean swallows, trailing off and looking vaguely regretful, and Cas takes a moment to strategize his answer.

It’s very difficult, because in his head, he’s already frantically riding Dean’s fingers, one hand planted on Dean’s chest while the other ruthlessly strips his own cock and Dean’s hips jerk in time to the rhythm of his thrusts and-

“Right, that – yeah, that’ll be way too weird,” Dean suddenly says, misunderstanding Cas’s stupor, and Cas forces himself to return to the present and think about what Dean actually just said.

Which – Cas isn’t sure _exactly_ what the rules are for assisted masturbation between platonic friends is, but his instincts tell him that no, you probably shouldn’t look at each other while it happens. Obviously, he’d _like_ to look Dean in the eyes while Dean worked him open and fingered him to orgasm and, perhaps, accidentally came on him again, but the only reason you’d look someone in the eye through all of that is if you were at least a little bit interested in them, and the only reason Dean could possibly be comfortable doing this is because he trusts that Cas _isn’t_.

Cas clears his throat, thinking hard.

“Not necessarily,” he eventually says, startled to realize he’s begun caressing Dean’s stomach again – though Dean doesn’t appear to have noticed, staring intently back at him. “We could just . . . turn off the light? And then it wouldn’t matter where we looked.”

Dean blinks.

“Oh. Yeah, that – that could work. Definitely.” Dean swallows. “So . . . do you . . . do you wanna try that?”

Cas pretends to think about it for a moment, lest Dean thinks he seems too eager to straddle a friend’s gorgeous stomach and enthusiastically jerk off while getting finger-fucked six ways to Sunday, and then slowly, he nods.

“Sure,” he manages, shrugging slightly. “I guess we could try it.”

Twenty minutes later, Cas is really, really fucking glad they tried it.

“Fuck – _fuck -_ more, Dean, more-” he pants, staring into nothing with wide eyes, thighs tight and straining as he fucks back onto Dean’s fingers. Dean is absolutely _terrible_ at multi-tasking, has been gripping Cas’s hip with his free hand hard enough to leave bruises, fingertips digging into the meat of Cas’s ass as he urges him on, and Cas should insist he put that hand on himself instead, should remember the whole mutually-beneficial point of this exercise, but it feels so _good_ he can’t quite bring himself to care. Dean’s fingers feel huge inside him, thrusting ruthlessly into every downstroke, and it’s still not enough, just makes him want more, makes him want to knock Dean’s arm aside and pin Dean’s hands to the bed and just ride him until he’s shouting incoherent nonsense and waking all the neighbors because Cas feels _that fucking good._

“Gonna break my goddamn fingers, buddy,” Dean chokes out, and Cas closes his eyes against the darkness, heart pounding. Dean sounds _incredible,_ voice cracked, breaths short and rough and like a delicious volley of cannon fire in the pitch black quiet of the room, and the soft skin of his stomach is warm and sweat-slick against Cas’s thighs as he frantically works up and down, one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder for balance. Everything seems loud and intense and _right there_ and-

“You’ll be fine,” he gasps, his own breaths harsh in the darkness. “More, Dean.”

He squeezes around them for emphasis, and Dean groans, one long, loud note amid the chorus, and then there’s pressure at Cas’s entrance and Dean’s little finger is pushing in alongside the other three and Cas stutters into his own fist, crying out from the pleasure of it, and-

“Like that?” Dean demands, thrusting in deep, and Cas arches and goes tight, jerking into his hand, fingernails probably leaving more marks at Dean’s shoulder to match the ones on his arm. Everywhere they’re touching seems to be slipping, air hot between them and the heel of Dean’s hand barely still on his hip, fingers practically cupping his ass, and this, _this_ is the best sex Cas has ever had, hot and filthy and driving him to the edge so much faster than he wants to get there, because- “Does it feel good? Is that what you wanted?”

Dean’s talking a lot more, tonight, and every time his voice reaches Cas’s ears in the dark, Cas briefly thinks that’s it, that he’s going to come because of how fucking good Dean sounds, words low and somehow dirty even though he’s clearly just being polite, clearly just trying to touch base with Cas because he can’t see anything and he cares and he has no _idea_ what kind of effect he has when he says shit like this, or else he wouldn’t be saying it.

“Cas,” he snaps, and Cas opens his eyes, though it doesn’t matter either way, struggling to focus.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, yes, it feels good, it feels so good, Dean, it- _fuck,_ ” he shouts, Dean’s fingers twisting viciously inside him, and Cas’s body curls up of its own volition, shivers wracking through it as he practically crushes Dean’s shoulder in his grip, hand freezing around his cock.

“Still good?” Dean has the cheek to ask, but Cas doesn’t even care, just lets his head drop forward onto the pillow next to Dean’s with another moan, thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself away from Dean’s body. Dean’s hand slips away from his hip entirely, stroking over the curve of Cas’s spine, and Cas feels the pillow shift, feels Dean’s breath, hot against his cheek. “Gettin’ tired?”

Cas nods, trembling beneath his hand and struggling to keep moving, Dean’s fingers thick and perfect and utterly ruthless inside of him, and Dean suddenly tugs on his back, pulling him down.

“Can’t see you, Cas. You’ve gotta tell me.”

“Yes,” he forces himself to answer. “Yes – we did those legs videos and I’m sore, but - but please don’t stop.”

He thinks he feels Dean shudder.

“I won’t. Just – relax. You don’t have to do anything, Cas, I – I’ll take care of it. Okay?”

Cas doesn’t even _care_ anymore, just wants Dean to keep fucking him, in whatever way he’s willing to, and obediently stops moving, settling against Dean’s chest and clinging for dear life. He can feel the head of his cock press against Dean’s skin as he clumsily strokes himself between them, but Dean doesn’t tell him to move it and Cas _is_ tired and staying still while he lets Dean set the pace is a welcome relief, even though it leaves all his focus for the way that actually feels, Dean’s fingers spreading him wide and filling him up and more than ever, Cas wishes he could make it weird, wishes he could tell Dean his fingers aren’t cutting it and Cas needs more and he expects that more to be Dean’s cock, expects to be given every inch and then some, to be fucked like he’s the greatest thing Dean’s ever felt and Dean’s determined to provide the same in return, but he can’t, he _can’t,_ he’s going to just have to do it like this, because he is a _good friend,_ damn it, and good friends don’t sob into your shoulder and beg for your dick when you’re already very generously getting them off with your fingers.

Still - the closer he gets and the easier it is for Dean’s fingers to slide in, Cas loose and wet and helplessly clenching around them, the more frustrated he becomes, body screaming for _more_ and _deeper_ and-

“Please,” he chokes out, mindlessly rocking back. “Please, Dean, I want – just – just-”

“Just what, Cas?” Dean pants, almost sounding _concerned,_ of all things. “What do you need?”

_Just_ fuck _me,_ _for God’s sake._

Except he can’t _say_ that _,_ and even if having Dean do this for him is more than he ever expected to get, right now it just feels unfair. Cas is _ready,_ is more than ready, and Dean fucking him would be a question of Cas scooting back followed by a few seconds of toe-curling fumbling around in the dark before Dean could be sliding in, easy as anything, and a few strokes after that Cas could finally perish in fucked-out ecstasy and if his family was too embarrassed to admit their son and brother actually died from how fucking incredible finally getting his roommate’s dick was, they could just politely tell everyone the virus did him in.

But no, his family will not be making any such excuses, because Cas is a reasonable, considerate person and because of that, he _won’t_ be getting said roommate’s dick, not now and not later, and just to make sure Dean doesn’t catch on to how badly he wishes it weren’t so-

Cas shifts, burying his face in Dean’s neck and letting the words get lost to the skin there, instead. Dean jerks, fingers freezing as he lets out a gasp, and Cas offers some halfhearted prayer for forgiveness as he closes his mouth around the skin, because surely Dean would rather have Cas sucking at his neck than emotionally blackmailing him into fucking him.

“Just keep going,” he gasps, and then returns to mouthing at Dean’s throat, unable to help a small moan when Dean immediately starts moving again.

“Fuck, are you – are you close?”

“Yes, yes, so close, just – just keep-

Dean cuts him off with a particularly hard thrust, pace abruptly quickening, and Cas latches on to Dean’s neck, desperate for any way to occupy his mouth that doesn’t involve shouting extravagant demands for penetration.

“Oh, God, Cas,” Dean groans, throat twitching under Cas’s mouth, and Cas would echo the sentiment if he weren’t so busy sucking on the smooth, warm skin, too overwhelmed with sensation to worry about whether or not accidentally giving Dean a massive hickey is appropriate, and soon enough, all Cas can do is breathe against him, artlessly stripping his cock and rocking back onto Dean’s fingers and suddenly Dean’s not pulling back out, is pushing in deep and rubbing his fingers and Cas’s shaking body freezes, pleasure white-hot as it burns through every cell inside it-

And just like that, he comes all over his hand and Dean’s chest with some deeply unsexy cross between a groan and a scream, and _oh,_ Jim and Izzy are never, ever going to forgive him.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps, fingers merciless as they move inside him, his other hand stroking up and down Cas’s spine. “Yeah, Cas, come on, just like that-”

Cas shudders, face pressed tight to the crook of Dean’s shoulders, heart beating so hard and fast he’s almost positive Dean should be able to hear it.

“Now you,” he pants, still collapsed forward, and hopes Dean understands.

The hand on his back immediately moves away, and then Cas feels Dean’s abs tighten, and a moment later, Cas hears him take himself in hand, body rocking in an unmistakable rhythm with Cas still right on top of it.

And then the pressure inside him relaxes, Cas shivering as Dean slides a finger out, and then-

He starts gently thrusting in time with the movement of his hips, an agonizingly sweet tease at Cas’s still sensitive hole, and Cas moans again.

“Just – just need a minute,” Dean tells him, breathless, and Cas does his best to nod, still dazed and trembling and absolutely certain he will never, ever masturbate to anything else again.

(Except when he fantasizes about this, he’s definitely going to be getting more than fingers.)

Dean’s still rolling his hips up and down, thrusts turning erratic, when Cas finally nudges his arm aside, sensation more uncomfortable than pleasant, and Dean laughs.

“Too much?”

“Yes, but I enjoyed it while it lasted.”

Dean makes a soft noise.

“Yeah, well, that was the idea, swee-uh. Buddy.”

Cas doesn’t think too hard about what that word might originally have been – there’s a reason Dean corrected himself, after all – and struggles upright, lightly touching his fingers to Dean’s chest, wincing when he feels his own release across it.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No kidding. Got some – got some on my – ah – my chin.”

Cas can’t see him, but the way Dean _sounds,_ body moving underneath him, makes him desperately wish there were power shortages that caused lights to abruptly turn _on,_ just so Cas could see his face while he did this.

And perhaps _that_ , that thwarted desire and the haze of lingering pleasure, is why he does what he does next.

Because next, Cas simply ducks down, forehead bumping Dean’s jaw as he orients himself, and then slowly starts mouthing along it, stilling when he finds that he has, indeed, gotten his come on Dean’s chin.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and just to be fair, gently starts licking it off.

Dean honest-to-God _whimpers,_ body seizing underneath him, but Cas attributes it to the impending orgasm and keeps working his way down, diligently seeking out the damage and thoroughly applying his tongue when he finds it.

“Son of a _bitch-”_ Dean swears, a hand landing just shy of Cas’s hip, practically squeezing his ass, but Cas is neither going to complain nor correct him, is hardly about to spoil Dean’s fun when Dean so generously allowed him his, and besides – he’s too busy politely lapping up his own come, just so Dean doesn’t get uncomfortable, to really do anything else. “God – _fuck –_ Cas – Cas, Cas, _Cas-_ ”

Dean shoves off the bed on the next thrust, so hard Cas nearly topples off him, and then he’s crying out and collapsing back, muscles taut and body twitching, and Cas had absolutely nothing to do with it, but he can’t help but feel smug anyway,sitting back when Dean has finally settled and rubbing soothing circles across his spit-slick chest, if only because Dean basically did the same for him.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes out, chest heaving, and Cas ignores the little thrill that courses through him at the utterance.

_Nothing to do with me,_ he reminds himself, and before he can think too hard about that, Dean puts a hand on Cas’s thigh, gently patting.

“Should straighten out,” he mumbles. “Gonna get a cramp.”

“Oh. Possibly.” Cas hesitates, not quite sure how to go about it in a way that doesn’t disturb Dean.

“Cas.”

“Right. Um . . .”

After a beat, he carefully feels for the bed on either side of Dean, planting his hands and starting to shift off of him, but the hand on his thigh suddenly squeezes.

“Didn’t say you had to move.”

“Oh.”

On the one hand, they’re both naked, Cas is pretty sure Dean hasn’t cleaned up yet, and Cas sprawling on top of him like that is bound to put some things in contact that usually aren’t when they cuddle like this.

On the _other_ hand, they do frequently cuddle like this, Cas’s dick has been touching Dean for the last ten minutes at least, and since Cas is much more interested in receiving a snuggle than he is in making sure he doesn’t get come on his thigh . . .

Cas straightens out, wincing as his stiff, aching legs unbend, and then carefully lowers himself back onto Dean, resting his head against Dean’s chest and his hand across his stomach. He can indeed feel Dean, soft against his thigh and a briefly disconcerting wetness alongside it, but it doesn’t matter.

Dean’s arms immediately wrap around him, chin tucking against the top of his hair, heart still thundering beneath Cas’s cheek.

“Fuck yeah,” he mutters, apropos of nothing, and that-

Cas doesn’t think too hard about that, either.

_Was that sex_? Dean wonders, still staring stupidly into the dark, Cas warm and vaguely sweaty and still deliciously coconut-y right underneath his nose, hand stroking away at the goddamn pie-top like it’s a cat in need of soothing.

Because it certainly _felt_ like sex. It felt like really, really awesome sex, for that matter, the kind of sex that leaves you dumb and dazed and absolutely useless until your body does you a favor and lets you get it up for round two, at which point all lapsed motor function miraculously returns.

It felt like the kind of sex where, once there’s no question of more rounds or getting it up again before at least half a good night’s sleep is had, you shamelessly cling to your partner and fall asleep just like that, giddy and blissed out and maybe a little hopelessly in love.

Except that’s why it _couldn’t_ have been sex, because sex is a thing you do together because you’re both hot for each other and Cas isn’t hot for him, and anyway, Dean was just helping him masturbate because the guy’s having a really tough time, which is totally, one-hundred-percent different than actual sex.

Not that that makes it any less, Dean thinks, absently curling his fingers in Cas’s soft, unruly hair. After all, even if it wasn’t sex, Dean’s still riding high on all the same good feelings he’d get if it was, feelings he definitely doesn’t get when he masturbates on his own, and he’s still getting the afterglow, all tangled up with someone he loves, quietly breathing together as they come down from that high, and when all is said and done, he’s pretty sure he’s going to get the holy grail of post-coital bedtime rituals, snuggling Cas to sleep and maybe, if he’s really lucky, being told he’s _loved_ again.

Because that’s what really makes this all so incredible, isn’t it? Cas isn’t the talkative kind, doesn’t get too close to very many people at all, no matter how well he gets along with them, but _twice_ now, he’s straight-up told Dean he loved him. Three times now, he’s let Dean hold him while he comes apart, even let him be the one to help make it happen, a couple of those times, and that – God. Dean can’t help but feel _special,_ can’t help but imagine he might be the only person in the world Cas could trust to do this, that maybe that’s _why_ his old partners could never give him the fantasy, that they just weren’t _close_ enough.

And maybe Dean can’t, either, because Cas doesn’t want him to, but by some miracle, Dean’s still someone he loves and trusts and is willing to share this with, and that . . .

Dean is pretty sure he’s never done anything to deserve that, but he’s not about to turn it down.

Anyway, he doesn’t know how long he lies there, panting in the silence and marveling that he ended up there at all, but he’s still lost in a vaguely emotional stupor when Cas suddenly clears his throat, cheek still pressed to Dean’s sternum.

“Was that . . .” he starts, then trails off, shifting a little. “Sorry if that was – weird.”

“If what was weird?” Dean asks, struggling to come down from it all. Which – they really are just supposed to be two friends getting off together, not even fuckbuddies, not even _sex,_ and it’s still so fucking intense.

Every time he comes with Cas, it leaves him reeling.

“Um.” Cas hesitates. “Coming on you.”

“Well, I came on you,” Dean offers, then immediately cringes. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t probably going to replaying the sight of his come hitting Cas’s back, pooling in the dip of his spine, for the rest of his goddamn life, but that didn’t mean it was _okay,_ or that he should remind Cas he did it.

There’s silence.

Cas takes a deep breath.

“But . . . you used a wipe to clean me off.”

“Oh.” Dean clears his throat, frantically trying to figure out a way to say ‘come on me and lick it off anytime you want, buddy’ that doesn’t sound like Dean’s totally in it for himself, because the only problem Dean had with Cas doing that was that there wasn’t enough light for Dean to see it. “Yeah, uh . . . sorry about that.”

Cas stills.

“. . . Sorry?”

“All the, uh. The single-use cleaning products, that’s – they’re shit for the environment. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Silence.

Dean licks his lips, staring up into the darkness and hoping Cas doesn’t realize how full of shit he is.

“Just – that was a good idea, you know – licking it off. Can’t be a huge environmental cost in that, right?”

More silence.

“Right,” Cas says slowly. “That’s . . . true. Just – I was just thinking that that might have seemed, um, gross, to you.”

“What?” Dean makes a scoffing noise, hoping Cas attributes his racing heart to the spectacular orgasm he just had. “Nah. I don’t find your _come_ gross, why would I have a problem with your tongue?”

“Um.”

“I mean – I share food with you. I probably get a shitton of your saliva, you know? It’s kinda late to be thinking it’s gross, or anything.”

“Ah.” He feels Cas swallow. “Right. That – that’s true.”

Dean nods, though Cas can’t see him.

“Of course-” Cas starts, then pauses. “The same goes for you.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t – I wouldn’t object. To your, um, tongue, or saliva. On me.”

Dean almost laughs.

Cas wouldn’t be so cavalier if he knew _where_ on him Dean would like to put his tongue and saliva, but Dean’s not about to inform him he’d forgo ice cream the rest of his whole damn life it meant he could eat Cas out instead, so he just awkwardly pats Cas’s back.

“Okay, well, if it ever comes up, noted.”

“Good. Although – it probably won’t,” Cas mumbles, and Dean decides he’s imagining that he sounds disappointed.

“Hey, who knows,” Dean jokes. “You could get a snakebite, and need the venom sucked out. Now I don’t have to worry you’ll end up punching me after the fact.”

Cas doesn’t laugh, or say anything, and Dean’s deciding that, yeah, okay, it was a pretty lame joke, when he sighs.

“Well, you have permission to suck me anytime you want, Dean,” he mutters, starting to shift a little, and Dean instinctively tightens the arm he has around him, although if Cas is ready to pull away, Dean shouldn’t be trying to stop him.

But then he feels a pair of lips, warm on his neck, just shy of the place Cas was sucking at not that long ago.

“Thank you for helping me, Dean,” Cas whispers.

And then he moves away, Dean too stuck in paralyzed silence to stop him, and a moment later, he hears the drawer open.

He waits, listening as Cas peels open the wet wipes.

“Just one,” Cas says quietly, and then the wipe touches Dean’s thigh, cool and damp as Cas gently strokes along it, drawing up to make a quick but thorough pass over his cock before Cas finally pulls it away.

Dean just lies there, silent for a moment, at a loss.

“I’m going to go brush and wash my face,” Cas says quietly, with a light touch against Dean’s shoulder. “Are you coming?”

Dean swallows.

“Uh. I’ll . . . go when you get back.”

Dean’s pretty sure, if Cas sees his face right now, everything that that _wasn’t_ supposed to be is going to be written all over it.

“Alright.”

He feels the bed move as Cas gets up, then listens as he pads out into the hallway and to the bathroom. There’s a brief moment when he flicks on the light, a tantalizing glimpse of lean back muscles and thick, well-muscled thighs, but then Cas is stepping inside and shutting the door and Dean is left to darkness once again.

He waits, grateful when Cas shuts the light off before he reopens the door, and eases out of the bed, his legs feeling strangely unsteady.

“Be right back,” he offers, and hastens past Cas’s shadowy shape into the hall, waiting until he’s fumbled the bathroom door shut behind him before he turns on the light.

A good thing, too; a reluctant glance in the mirror proves that yeah – Dean still looks completely _wrecked._

He makes short work of his teeth, does the kind of halfhearted facewash Mom would silently raise her brow at, and then he flicks off the light and feels his way back to bed, a little anxious to get back inside it, like the longer he stays away, the less likely he is to end up back where he was before Cas got up in the first place.

It’s an unfounded fear; Cas shifts over and tucks back into Dean’s side the instant he’s slid back under the blanket, and Dean relaxes, quickly putting an arm around him.

Cas sighs, light and minty-fresh against him.

“Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, Cas,” Dean murmurs, and he feels Cas nod against him.

And he knows he probably shouldn’t, that yesterday was kind of a weird day, that Cas is doing a lot better tonight, probably on account of the two orgasms he had, and unlike Dean, he’s gonna be feeling way less sentimental and emotional and whatever the hell else-

But Dean still finds himself waiting.

“I love you,” Cas adds after a moment, soft and quiet, and Dean – Dean just sort of _melts._

“Me, too,” he answers promptly, giving Cas a squeeze, and then he shifts, settling further into the mattress.

He knows it’s stupid, that he’s probably gonna lose all of this when quarantine is over for good and everybody gets back to their lives and Cas needs a fraction of the cuddles and orgasms he needs now, and certainly not from Dean, but he can’t help himself. He thinks a guy could really get used to this.

Dean ends up going to sleep with a smile.

Dean is the most oblivious man in the world, Cas has concluded, and the most easygoing.

In light of that, it is Cas’s duty and obligation as a good friend and roommate to try, to the best of his ability, not to take advantage of that.

That said.

_That_ said.

Cas is going fucking crazy.

It’s all he can do not to just _jump_ Dean. His body thinks it’s been _teased,_ thinks it’s owed more now that it’s been given a taste. He wants to crash their mouths together every time Dean catches his eye, wants his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair, wants Dean’s hands all over him, ruthless and eager and unyielding in their exploration, not that Cas would have it any other way.

They make coffee and tea in the kitchen and Cas thinks about Dean cornering him, dark-eyed and wanting, tugging his boxers down and lifting him onto the counter and holding him there while Dean fucks him hard and fast and dirty, Cas’s fingers scrambling for purchase on the edge of the formica.

He thinks about putting his head in Dean’s lap when they’re doing homework on the sofa, about setting Dean’s laptop aside and pulling back his waistband, licking at his cock, teasing him to hardness until Dean is squirming, is _demanding,_ is shoving him off and hauling him into his lap and fingering him open until Cas is ready to sink down and ride him within an inch of his life.

He thinks about dinner and bedtime, a terrible eternity away, about shutting the laptop mid-episode and getting on his knees like he was the first time, but this time Dean will stop him when he’s got Cas loose and open and desperate, will pull his fingers out and drag his cock along Cas’s hole and then thrust inside, draping himself over Cas’s back as he mercilessly fucks into him, holding Cas’s hands by his head and mouthing at his neck and telling him _come, sweetheart, come on my cock, and_ -

“Cas, you gonna finish making your tea?”

Cas swallows, mouth dry, and reaches for the Splenda packets.

All fucking day, his mind is in the gutter, desperately trying to think of excuses to touch Dean, to have Dean touch him again, to reassure him that yesterday wasn’t a one-off and Dean doesn’t somehow expect Cas to live without it now that he’s had it.

_Not having_ _eggs for breakfast_ _because you won’t let me out of the apartment to go to the store_ _for more_ _has left me feeling very ‘keyed up,’ Dean, any chance I could get an orgasm_ _out_ _of you?_

Cas sullenly nibbles at his tinned kippers and says nothing.

_What a surprisingly sad episode of this children’s cartoon, could I perhaps have a snuggle and a mind-blowing prostate massage to help me feel better?_

He lets the episode play, and then they get back to studying, Dean obliviously grimacing at his screen for the next two hours.

_My brother shared a very personal story that may have mentally scarred me, would you mind helping me overwrite it by tenderly laying me over the back of the sofa and giving me as many fingers as you think I can take until I’m begging you to let me come?_

Cas returns from his phone call with Gabe and politely tells Dean his brother said ‘hi.’

And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if all Cas was focused on was more of the same, of a repeat performance of something he’s pretty sure, based on Dean’s almost suspiciously normal behavior today, must not have been _too_ far outside his comfort zone, but it’s not, because while Cas is willing to _settle_ for that if it’s all he can have, inside his head?

It isn’t.

No, as the day wears on, all Cas can think about is Dean’s dick and getting Dean’s dick inside him and perhaps angling for a promise to be the frequent, exclusive destination for Dean’s dick for the foreseeable future, by which he naturally means forever, and by the time they’re in bed for their after-dinner cuddle, Cas is more focused on not getting hard than he is on whatever stupid, pointless show they happen to be watching.

The thing is, a part of Cas thinks Dean might actually fuck him if he just _asked._ Dean put his fingers in Cas’s ass _repeatedly_ , stroked along his walls and curled into his prostate and gave Cas the best orgasm of his _life,_ all in the service of a friend.

Would giving Cas his dick be so much worse?

Cas feels hopeful and reasonable for about three seconds before he remembers that Dean _also_ puts his fingers down the garbage disposal and feels around it whenever a teaspoon or some kind of grisly matter falls in, a place he would absolutely never put his penis, and concludes that the two are wholly different things.

Which is the real problem with what they’re doing, isn’t it? No matter how reasonable Cas tries to make getting what he wants sound – it just _doesn’t_.

Therefore, he’s going to have to wait for Dean to come to him. Clearly, Cas’s feelings are influencing him, leaving him both too eager and too uncertain to know when or if it’s the right time to suggest something, never mind _how_ to go about doing so, and the reality is, he should just be grateful if Dean wants a repeat of _anything_ they did yesterday. In a situation like this, Dean is the only one who can objectively set the standard for getting off together without making it weird, and Cas is simply going to have to wait for him to do that.

Of course, a part of Cas wonders if it hasn’t crossed that line already, but then again, he’s never done anything remotely like this, so what would he know? Even when he was _dating_ someone, he can’t remember ever wanting sex this way, not this often or this badly. If his masturbation habits hadn’t become abruptly excessive and embarrassing shortly after moving in with Dean, Cas would assume it was some sort of strange biological response to widespread crisis.

Unfortunately, it’s not, and if said masturbation habits are any indicator of what he can expect now that he’s started doing it _with_ Dean . . .

Well, Cas prays Dean’ll bring it up again soon.

The day after making Cas come twice is the longest, most agonizing day of Dean’s life.

_Just act normal,_ is his mantra for the unbearable eternity from breakfast to dinner, and despite his best efforts, he’s a complete fucking wreck inside and Cas can probably tell. Cas is quiet a lot of days, but today he’s practically _silent,_ and try as Dean might to crack jokes and talk normally and whatever else functional human roommates do, he can tell it must not be working.

In light of that, he’s still not totally sure how nine PM rolls around and finds him propped against the headboard, laptop shoved to the foot of the bed and his face practically smothered in Cas’s chest as Cas clings to him, grip tight in Dean’s hair and hole clutching furiously at Dean’s fingers while Dean diligently thrusts them inside it.

He remembers queuing up the first thing he found on Netflix, not a word from Cas beside him, thoughts bouncing chaotically between ‘last night’ and ‘would it be weird to cuddle tonight or would it be weirder not to since they cuddle every night, these days’ and then the episode ended and autoplay failed and Dean has no idea how long it took for either one of them to notice and he was _going_ to ask Cas if he was ready for the next one, he totally was, but when he looked over, Cas was staring at him, cheeks red and pupils dilated and that was probably a trick of the light, a really fucking sexy trick of the light, but Dean still couldn’t help himself, somehow ended up asking how Cas was doing in a totally lame, transparent way, and since Cas just said he was feeling on edge and having trouble focusing, what else was Dean supposed to _do,_ and _christ_ , he can feel Cas’s nipple against his cheek, could turn his head and mouth over it, tease it with his teeth, get it red and wet and sore and actually, he wonders if-

“Are your nipples sensitive?” he blurts out, and Cas freezes, panting against him.

“W-what?” he asks, confused, and Dean clears his throat.

“I mean – do you like to play with them, when you masturbate?”

“I – sometimes? But usually – I only have two hands, Dean.”

“Oh. Right. Me, too,” he adds, then remembers Cas probably knows that. “I could?”

Cas doesn’t pull away, still clutching Dean’s head to his chest, heart hammering.

“You could – what? Like you said, you – you only have two hands.”

“Yeah, but I could – I could, uh. Suck them. And stuff.” Cas twitches, and Dean makes a face into his chest, uncertain. “Unless that’s – weird?”

Which, on the one hand, maybe it is, but on the other hand, if Cas _did_ have three hands, it sounds like he’d be touching them, and honestly, if he _could_ lick his own nipples-

He would, right?

“No?” Cas clears his throat. “No, I – I don’t think that would be weird. Unless you think it would be.”

“Uh.”

“I – I’ve never masturbated with friends before,” Cas says quickly. “Sorry if I – if I do do something that’s, uh, weird.”

“What? Oh, no, you’re doing great.” Though, honestly, Cas could blindfold him and cuff his hands to the handy metal slats of his bedframe so he could ride Dean into screaming oblivion and Dean would probably just say, ‘yeah, okay, this checks out’ (assuming he could talk at all, after that).

Cas nods against the top of his head.

“Have . . . you?”

Dean blinks, trying to remember where he is.

“Masturbated with friends?”

“Yes.”

“Uh. Kind of. I watched porn with ‘em a couple times in high school,” he admits, although he quickly decided that there was just something about being in a room full of sweaty adolescent dudes with their dicks out that kind of harshed his mellow.

“But – I mean – like this. Have you done this? With your other friends?”

_Christ, no,_ Dean almost says, but he doesn’t want Cas to think it _is_ weird, because even if it’s not exactly standard, who the hell makes the rules about what friendship looks like, anyway? If he and Cas are comfortable, and they’re getting what they need, then if anything, that just makes them even _better_ at friendship than they would be if they followed some dumb unspoken handbook.

On the other hand, if Cas thinks it’s _normal –_ what if he tries to do it with someone else?

Dean swears to god he feels his erection wilt a little in his hand at the thought.

“No,” he says quickly. “No, because – well, uh. It – it _would_ be weird, if we were just like, regular roommates, but we’re – you know, we’re best friends. Like, really good best friends.”

Cas is quiet for a second.

“What do you mean?”

“Uh. Just – I’ve never been close with anybody like I am with you.”

“Oh.”

For a long, long moment, Cas says nothing. And then:

“Okay,” he agrees, hoarse. “You can do stuff to my nipples, then.”

All thoughts of Cas getting off with anybody but Dean drain right out of his head, and Dean’s got his mouth around the hard little bud in about two seconds flat, Cas’s hand curling in his hair and _yanking_ as he immediately starts fucking down on Dean’s fingers, and when his body goes tight and he comes all over Dean’s chest a few minutes later, sobbing out Dean’s name-

Dean’s pretty sure he never wants to be this close with anyone else ever again.

The rest of the week passes, and to Dean’s astonishment, _it keeps happening._

Sometimes it’s once a day, sometimes it’s twice; yesterday, it was _three_ times, Cas struggling through an essay for a lit class and Dean helpfully telling him masturbation is supposed to help with writer’s block.

(Dean doesn’t experience ‘writer’s block’ as such, but logic tells him an orgasm is like a nice little brain chemistry reset button, so even if he’s talking out his ass – it can’t hurt, right?)

Anyway, either it works and Cas has found a new go-to, or it doesn’t work but Cas has a lot of misplaced faith in Dean so he keeps trying anyway, and by the time the essay is submitted, two minutes before midnight, and Cas is shoving his laptop away like it’s personally offended him, they’ve both come three times and Dean still isn’t sure he couldn’t get it up a fourth, because goddamn, frazzled-Cas aggressively typing and backspacing and growling at his keyboard is _so. Fucking. Hot._

It’s so hot – _everything_ Cas does is – that honestly, Dean is struggling not to selfishly try and talk him into letting Dean provide a little bit more than just a helping _hand._

Of course, fucking Cas is definitely off the table, but . . . what about a _blowjob_?

Getting your dick sucked has always felt pretty damn intimate to Dean, but then, Dean’s kind of an intimate sort of guy, even if he doesn’t like to think too hard about that, and he knows for a lot of dudes, it’s just – no big deal.

Obviously, Cas doesn’t want Dean’s cock in his ass, Dean all sweaty and grunting on top of him, but a _blowjob . . ._

Dean could still touch himself, so it’d still count as just masturbating together, and Cas could wrap his legs around Dean’s back, squeeze his head between those ridiculous thighs, kind of like a hug with legs, so the whole point of getting off together would still be satisfied, and then Cas could touch his _own_ nipples and just lie back while Dean fingered him open and swallowed him down and if Dean did it right, if Dean went easy straight up till the end and then started ruthlessly thrusting against his prostate while he took him down his throat, Cas would be so caught off guard he’d probably just _come,_ would let Dean finally get to _taste_ him, and if he had any questions about that Dean could just pull the environment-card again, and-

“Dean?”

Dean shifts on the sofa, mouth watering. He quickly swallows, doing his best to look casual.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I was asking about milk,” Cas says slowly, and Dean tries not to think about licking milky drops of precome right off Cas’s dick.

“We still have some.”

“Yes, we do, but – it’s almost out.” Cas frowns. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, fine. Just – got stuff on my mind.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“What stuff?”

_Your dick in my mouth, for starters._

“Just . . . stuff.”

“Okay.” Cas hesitates, eyes flicking away, almost – calculating. “Are you . . . stressed?”

“Uh. Not – not a lot, but – a little, I guess.”

Dean is _very_ stressed, because there’s about a million different ways he wants to get his mouth and his hands and his dick on or inside of Cas, but reason says he has to figure out which ones are actually _acceptable_ for friends to do, and also that he has to stop every time feelings attempt to talk him into trying to figure out how to bargain for the unacceptable ones on the ground that maybe they could be _more_ than friends, just as a trial period, because it’s quarantine and Cas can’t exactly go out on dates with anyone else and if he loves Dean as a friend and he’s okay with Dean’s fingers in his ass and Dean’s lips and teeth around his nipples and Dean’s come on his skin, then maybe they could just _try_ a little bit of the romance stuff, just to see?

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

Cas hesitates.

“You seem troubled. Do you want to talk about it?”

Which – honestly, Dean kind of does, even if all talking does is let him try and feel out whether or not Cas might at least consider trying more, but then again – he knows the answer to that, doesn’t he?

Because Cas _is_ okay with Dean’s fingers in his ass and his mouth on his nipples and his come on his skin, and if he were okay with more than that, he would have asked for it by now, wouldn’t he? After all, Dean’s clearly desperate to give.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll figure it out,” he says easily, offering Cas a smile. “How ‘bout you? How’re you feeling today?”

Cas hesitates, eyes boring holes into Dean’s face.

“A little on edge,” he eventually says, and Dean nods, sympathetic, before it hits him.

“Oh. Like, do you wanna-”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know what I was gonna say.”

“You were either going to suggest we snuggle and watch cartoons, or that we snuggle and masturbate, and the answer is ‘yes’ to either one.”

“Oh.” Dean ducks his chin, cheeks warm. Cas has no idea what the fuck he does to Dean, does he? “Honestly, it, uh, it was gonna be the second one.”

“Okay, then ‘yes,’” Cas reiterates and then he crawls into Dean’s lap, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, which Dean just tries to think of as a teammate helping him with a common goal rather than the guy he’s in love with undressing him so they can both get some orgasms. “Though you can play some cartoons in the background, anyway, if you’d like,” he adds, and dumbly, Dean lifts his arms, world going dark as the t-shirt slides up.

Dean makes a face when the light hits him again.

“TV maybe, but – kid’s cartoons?” he shakes his head. “I think that’ll be weird.”

Cas just shrugs and pulls off his own shirt and Dean’s glad that this, at least, is perfectly normal.

“I don’t think this is normal,” Cas mutters, staring at the Skype screen, and Gabe lifts a brow.

“Don’t think what’s normal, kiddo?”

“My friendship with Dean.”

“Well, no, but it’s always been totally fuckin’ weird, so that’s not new.”

Cas hesitates.

“You know, he – he’s very emotionally intuitive. People read him incorrectly, when they meet him, due to the loud, unsafe vehicle and the rock music and the sarcasm, but – Dean is extraordinary when it comes to reading people and connecting with them.”

Gabe wrinkles his nose.

“That’s nice, but maybe save it for your wedding vows. I’m trying to eat.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, but I _will_ be when I get off the phone with you.”

Cas sighs.

“It’s just – he takes care of people. It’s part of who he is. And while his chosen method of doing so can be – _incredibly_ obnoxious, particularly when you are in no actual danger of disease and would like some fresh air, I worry that these things are just – instinctive for him.”

“Not sure I follow, Cassie.”

Cas lifts his shoulders.

“What if he feels . . . subconscious pressure to, um, to provide?”

Gabe lifts his brows.

“Provide _what_?”

Cas hesitates.

His brother will never let him live it down, but his brother is also shameless, and Cas has no idea who else he can be this blunt with.

“Sometimes, when we masturbate together, he - he fingers me.”

Technically, it’s a lot more than sometimes, but – Cas doesn’t think that’s as relevant.

His brother freezes.

“When you – say again, Cassie? I think Skype is bugging out.”

Cas sighs.

“When we’re in bed or on the sofa and we’re getting off together, he fingers me. And the last several times, he played with my nipples. Just with his mouth, and he says it’s just because we’re best friends, but-”

Gabe bursts out laughing, hysterical cackles so loud Cas winces away from the speaker.

“Gabe,” he warns. “Quiet.”

“ _Cassie,_ ” he gasps, eyes wide, expression delighted. “You know April Fool’s Day already passed, right?”

“I’m aware, but this is not a practical joke. I’m genuinely seeking advice-”

“ _Your roommate fingers you!_ ” Gabe practically howls, and Cas hastily taps at the Volume Down key.

“Because we’re both having a difficult time, so we like to cuddle while we masturbate, and it’s easier for him to do it than it is for me, but-”

“But your roommate puts his fingers in your ass until you come, right?” Gabe sputters, shoulders shaking. “And you _still_ think you guys are just jacking off together?”

“I – yes?”

“Congratulations, little bro!” Gabe crows. “You’re fucking.”

“Gabe, we’re _not_ -”

“Oh my _God,_ Cassie, what do you think sex _is_? It stops being ‘masturbating together’ as soon as stuff starts touching.”

“Oh.” Cas frowns, trying to make sense of that. “But Dean says-”

“Dean is full of shit,” Gabe interrupts merrily. “Next you’ll tell me he tried to say putting his dick in your ass is just like helping you out with one of your toys, except more efficient. Which, fucking you with a toy is still fucking you, just so you know.”

Cas averts his gaze. He’d actually been wondering if it would be okay to ask Dean to use a toy on him, next time; if anything, that’s even _less_ personal than Dean’s fingers, so perhaps Dean wouldn’t mind?

So much for _that_ plan.

“Noted,” he mutters. “Anyway, Dean’s not interested in fucking me-”

“Cas, I wouldn’t put my fingers anywhere near someone’s ass, let alone _inside_ it, if I wasn’t interested in _something_. I don’t care how good a friend they are – hell, I don’t care if Jesus Christ himself rose up from the grave and asked me to help a guy shake the dirt loose, just – hell _no._ ”

Cas grimaces.

“He’s not, Gabe. However, you _are_ correct in that – I don’t believe this is standard, even for a close friendship.”

Gabe snorts.

“You _think_?”

Cas huffs.

“It’s a strange time. We’re stuck inside. And I – I’ve been struggling with things, and Dean’s been trying to comfort me.”

“With his dick.”

“Unfortunately, no.” Cas would be consoled by a lot of things involving Dean’s dick, but alas, those things have yet to be offered. “Which – I’m clearly amenable. I don’t know about Dean’s perspective, but – I wouldn’t let a friend do these things to me. Not one who wasn’t Dean.”

Gabe blinks.

“You mean not one you weren’t _interested_ in.”

Cas colors, ignoring his tone.

“Yes. Yes, I meant that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway,” Cas mutters, clasping his hands in his lap. “I’ll be honest, in the two relationships I had, I wasn’t hugely interested in sex. It’s one of the reasons it didn’t work out with Bal. I had to be in a specific kind of mood to enjoy him doing anything like what Dean is doing, never mind more, and if you’d asked me if I’d ever let someone who was just a casual friend to me do that, I – I don’t think I could. So the fact that I’m letting him – to me, that’s obvious.”

“Right, well, Dean’s an idiot.”

“No, he’s not,” Cas returns, stern, then frowns. “Which is what I’m worried about.”

“Okay?”

“Since this _isn’t_ normal, and since on some level, he must know I want more – doesn’t it make you think he’s just doing this for me?”

Gabe squints.

“Wow. Yeah, Cassie, I _really_ don’t think that’s how it is.”

“But I was the one who asked for it, the first time,” Cas says, a little miserable. “We’d fallen asleep together, and he woke up hard, and I told him to stay and take care of it, and since he felt awkward, I told him I’d do it, too. And I made him hold me.”

“Jesus,” Gabe mutters, and Cas swears the next words out of his mouth are ‘That poor bastard.’

He taps the Volume Up key, frowning.

“Anyway, despite some . . . difficult incidents, Dean’s been doing his best to support me. And I think – whether he realizes it or not, I think-” Cas cuts off, hesitating, heart heavy. “I’m afraid I’m taking advantage.”

Gabe is silent for a long, long moment.

And then:

“Well, I’m no expert in these things, but . . . maybe you should offer to suck his dick?”

Cas stares.

Then he hangs up and wonders why he bothered calling in the first place.

“You know, Dean . . . you don’t have to touch me,” Cas says over dinner one night, eyes still carefully trained on the laptop screen, and Dean’s forkful of spaghetti goes straight into his own cheek. “If it – if it’s uncomfortable for you.”

Dean just gapes for a moment before he shakes his head, putting the fork back on the plate and fumbling for a napkin.

“Dude, it’s not.” The only ‘uncomfortable’ part about touching Cas, after all, is the fact that Dean has to somehow suppress the urge to do a hell of a lot more than just _touch_ him, which – really, how is that not obvious?

Cas hesitates, frowning, because apparently it isn’t.

“Still, I know I’ve been – I’ve had a difficult time, recently, and you – you’ve been trying to take care of me, but – what we’ve been doing is – it’s asking a lot from you.”

Dean just stares.

Is Cas serious?

“Uh. It’s really not, man.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Whether it’s asking a lot or not, Cas, I love giving it to you. Giving it to you’s great. I could give it to you six times a day and not have a problem with it,” Dean adds, just to make it clear.

Cas shifts on the sofa next to him, looking a little perturbed.

“Um.” He clears his throat, suddenly crossing his legs. “Um. S-still. That’s – that’s not really fair. You can’t deny you do more for me.”

“But I don’t _mind._ ”

“I do,” Cas protests, and Dean’s trying to figure out a way out of this conversation, because as far as he can tell, it ends with Cas saying he wants Dean to touch him less, or worse, not at all, when Cas opens his mouth again. “Uh. What if . . . what if I . . . I don’t know – sucked you off?”

Dean freezes.

“Uh. What?”

“Just – so we’d be even,” Cas explains, a little strained. “You’d finger me, and then I’d . . . blow you.”

Dean stares, dumbfounded. It’s not that he doesn’t like that idea – on the fucking contrary – but that seems way too skewed in his favor. Not only does he get to have Cas squirming on his fingers, Cas is proposing he gets Cas’s mouth on his dick, too, and that’s just -

“But that’s not even,” he blurts out. “I – I’d wanna do something else for you.”

Cas lifts his brows, blinking.

And then he shrugs.

“Uh. Well. Maybe . . . you could . . . you could use one of my toys on me?”

“Oh.” Honestly, Dean should have thought of that sooner, but he hasn’t, has been a little obsessed with the sensation of Cas going tight around his fingers as he comes, but that – well, that’s fair. Cas probably wants more than just Dean’s fingers, and it would be selfish of Dean not to give it to him, even if using the toy feels kind of impersonal.

Not that that’s what any of this is about, of course.

“Yeah, I – I could do that.”

Cas bites his lip.

“If it’s asking too much-”

“No, no way. I still think it’s asking too little.”

“Oh. Well . . . if you’re _sure . . ._ ”

“Totally,” Dean insists. “I’d love to fu-”

_Fuck you with one of your toys,_ he almost says, but then he remembers that even if _he_ kind of thinks of it that way sometimes, just in the privacy of his own head, he will technically just be assisting Cas in his own personal stimulation, Dean himself irrelevant to all of it.

“Fully, uh, provide. What you’re looking for.”

Cas nods slowly, intent.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Is that . . . did you wanna, uh. Do that now? The toy, I mean, I’m not – obviously, I’m not asking you to-”

“Yes. To both,” Cas adds, and Dean’s stomach sort of shudders in anticipation. “Do you want to see them?”

“See – you mean your toys?”

Cas lifts his shoulders, eyes still trained on Dean’s, a flush spreading up from his jaw.

“Yes? I thought you could pick one.”

“ _Me_? But I’m gonna use it on you.”

“That’s . . . true, but you - you’ll be the one handling it. So you should choose.”

Which, honestly, Dean’s not really following the logic there, but he’s sure as hell not going to refuse, so he quickly nods.

“Sure, if you want me to.”

“I really do,” Cas mutters under his breath, and then abruptly stands up, nodding toward the hall. “Shall we?”

As soon as Cas opens the thick, decorative leather book Dean’s seen on his desk a million goddamn times without any inkling of what treasures it’s held, he knows exactly which one he’s going to choose.

Still. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, and since Cas starts picking them up and explaining what they do before Dean can even say anything, he waits patiently, trying not to bounce his leg.

Imagining Cas _using_ each of them does absolutely nothing for his self-restraint, for the record.

“What about this one?” he can’t resist asking, even though he meant to wait for Cas to get to it, and Cas gives him a startled look, following his gaze.

“Oh. That’s just – it’s a vibrator.”

Dean nods slowly, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“It, uh. It kinda looks like a cat.”

Cas gives him a faintly disbelieving look, glancing at the slightly curved, pink and white toy with its whiskered chibi face.

“Yes, it does. It’s supposed to.”

“Uh-huh. Interesting.”

Cas frowns, suspicious.

“It’s supposed to be cute.”

Dean shrugs.

“And it totally is, but – you’re sticking a cat up your butt, Cas.”

Cas’s expression flattens.

“That’s not how you’re meant to think of it. Any more than – than eating a cookie designed to look like a cat is like actually eating one.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put a cat cookie up my butt, either.”

“That’s not what I-”

“But hey, whatever gets you off. Hand it over.”

Cas scowls, but to Dean’s surprise, he quickly plucks it out of the box and thrusts it toward him.

“This one does, uh, vibrate, but – you don’t have to use that feature, if that feels . . . weird.”

Like _hell_ is Dean not gonna use that feature.

He nods, inspecting its happy little face with interest.

“A vibrator, huh?”

Cas licks his lips.

“Yes.”

“So . . . what you’re telling me is . . . the cat in your butt is gonna purr.”

Cas blinks, looking at him for a long moment.

And then he points to the door.

“On second thought, I’m not sure I feel like company.”

Dean grins, making no effort to move.

“What? Come on, I just wanna make sure I understand what I’m dong here-”

“Hallway. You can jerk off there, if you want, but I’d like to be alone n-”

Dean just laughs, shutting the box lid and lightly pushing at Cas’s chest.

“C’mon. Get undressed.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

“No. You’re going to make jokes the whole time we’re doing this.”

“I’d never,” Dean insists, pushing a little harder, and Cas falls back, though he’s still frowning.

“You absolutely would, Dean.”

Dean sighs, setting aside the cat and reaching for Cas’s waistband, trying not to read too much into the way his breath hitches when Dean’s fingers tuck inside.

“Alright, fine. I was being a dick, I’m sorry. How ‘bout I make it up to you?”

“Make it up to me?” Cas echoes, lifting slightly while Dean tugs off his sweats. “How?”

With a shrug, Dean pulls them off each foot, doing his best to look utterly unconcerned.

“Yeah. I can . . . I don’t know, blow you while I help you with your toy. How’s that sound? Will you forgive me then?”

Cas stills, swallowing audibly.

“Uh. Well . . . I . . . I guess it _would_ prevent you from making more jokes . . .”

It totally won’t, but Cas doesn’t need to know that, especially since Dean’s pretty sure he’s about to get permission to put his mouth on Cas’s dick, and he’s not about to do a damn thing to jeopardize that.

“That a yes?” Dean asks, hand hovering over the waistband to Cas’s boxers, and after a beat, Cas slowly nods.

“Yes. It is.” He pauses. “You may proceed.”

Dean reaches for the lube and proceeds like it’s going out of style.

And as it turns out . . . using the toy isn’t ‘impersonal’ in the _least_.


	13. the hard to swallow incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: blowjobs, sex toys, masturbation, fingering, bottom!Cas, come swallowing, intercrural sex, reference to double penetration (no actual DP, either past or present), inaccurate depictions of medical conditions/treatment, implied/referenced past homophobia/reinforcement of gender stereotypes and some internalization of it (details in notes), COVID-related anxiety/meltdown, references to pandemic deaths/illness, discussions of reopening, sorry for Expectations readers who get horse flashbacks, you might say I’m a . . . _one-trick pony_ , please let me know if I missed anything, also sorry about the chapter count, it's kind of writing itself at this point.
> 
> Thank you very much for your patience ♡ I hope you're all safe and well; please enjoy!

The day they met, Cas didn’t really think Dean was handsome, at least not in any kind of clear, definitive way.

He remembers shaking his hand and thinking, with a pleasant sort of surprise, that Dean’s hand felt nice in his own, and when he looked up and saw how green Dean’s eyes were, saw the way they sort of crinkled at the corners, hinting at a long future of laugh lines, he got a warm, peaceful feeling.

 _Nice to meet you,_ Dean had said, licking his lips, and Cas had briefly glanced down to his mouth, to the smile there, and he’d had a strange sense of sureness, in that moment, that he was going to be glad he met this person.

And if you’d _asked_ him, he would have agreed, without hesitation, that Dean _was_ handsome. If you’d asked him, he would have agreed that Dean had pretty eyes and a wonderful smile and an abundance of charm, because while Cas didn’t really think of strangers and new acquaintances in terms of attractiveness, he remembers thinking Dean was funny, and he remembers hoping they’d be friends, and if pressed, he would at least have been capable of objectively evaluating the attractiveness of these and other more physical qualities.

What would have never crossed his mind, though – what he would have struggled to grasp – is just how fucking good Dean’s eyes would look, pupils wide and dark as he stared up at you through those ridiculous lashes, _watching_ you as he worked his mouth along the shaft of your cock and drove you out of your goddamn mind with his wet, clever tongue as he sucked you.

Cas would have been startled if someone had talked about that mouth, if they’d told him how plush and soft Dean’s lips looked, what it might be like if the repetitive pressure of your dick sliding through them had turned them pink and swollen as you lay back and watched them form a slick, perfect tunnel around you, Dean’s freckled cheeks hollowed out and his chin shiny with his own saliva as you twitched and panted and tried not to desperately thrust into him.

And forget trying to communicate how ordinary, short brown hair would feel between your fingers, damp with sweat and maddeningly soft; soft, because it was absent of the gel Dean usually wore out, because the world was falling apart and therefore meant he stayed _in_ , was _always_ in the same thousand-square foot apartment, mussed and undone and utterly unconcerned because the only person he was in there with was _you._

Still, what would _really_ shock Cas is if someone had nudged his shoulder and pointed out the hand Cas had just shaken , told him how capable that hand actually was, how it would be if those thick, deft fingers slicked you up and fucked you open and flicked on a pink-and-white cat vibrator to slowly press inside of you while that beautiful, devastating mouth gave you the best blowjob of your _life_.

But no one did.

Despite that, however, Cas has known Dean for a long time now, has _lived_ with Dean, has had Dean’s _hands_ on him, has had Dean’s mouth do wonderful things to his nipples and had his fingers bring him to orgasm on numerous occasions, and so, experiencing all of that right now, in this moment-

Cas is not surprised in the least.

Dean shudders and turns, easing off of him with an obscene _pop_.

“Cas – Cas, hair – _Cas-_ ”

Cas relaxes his grip on Dean’s hair, but it’s a struggle, and he’s pretty sure he only succeeds because Dean pulling off his cock long enough to speak means a very tiny fraction of bloodflow briefly diverts back to his brain.

“S-sorry,” he stammers out, struggling not to just thrust against Dean’s face, because the cat toy is buzzing away inside him and his cock is aching and probably leaking inside Dean’s mouth – perhaps even dripping onto his pink, wet, _perfect_ tongue – and Cas has been on the brink of orgasm for what feels like ten fucking minutes; and the _only_ reason he’s still holding on is because he doesn’t know when or if this is going to happen again and he’s desperate to last as long as earthly possible, the poor, overworked muscles of Dean’s gorgeous jaw be damned.

Dean laughs.

“It’s fine. Felt good, for the most part, but you were starting to get carried away.”

“Oh,” is all Cas says, because he’s not tugging anymore and he really, really wants Dean’s mouth again, but Dean is smiling up at him like Cas’s flushed, throbbing dick isn’t two inches away from his face, and the prickling sensation of awkwardness Cas sometimes feels when he uninhibitedly masturbates with the man he’s secretly in love with is starting to encroach on his pleasure.

Again, Dean chuckles, but then he twists the cat toy a little, and when Cas’s hips instinctively jerk upward, Dean’s mouth is open and waiting and-

“Ohhh, _God,_ ” Cas moans, eyes falling shut as Dean’s tongue slides right along the underside of his cock, the head bumping into soft palate and slipping onward, and then he feels Dean _swallow_ around it and-

He twists, fingers going tight in Dean’s hair again, and smothers a sob into the pillow, because in this moment, he realizes he’s going to have to finish, and _soon._

Dean’s free hand lightly palms his upper thigh, sliding to his hip and curving back around, fingertips brushing Cas’s ass in a way that is not nearly as soothing as he suspects Dean means it to be.

“Dean – Dean, I’m going to come soon,” he gasps, blindly stroking through his hair. “You should-”

Dean slides off him again, and Cas bites back a whimper.

“Swallow,” Dean supplies, green eyes dark as they blink up at him. “For the, uh. The environment’s sake. Remember?”

It takes Cas a moment to understand.

“The – what?”

“Well, I don’t wanna have to go clean up in the bathroom, either,” Dean explains, in a way that Cas personally feels fails to explain anything useful at all. “So just – finish in my mouth.”

Cas stares, heart thudding violently in his chest, like it’s perhaps trying to break free of his sternum.

“Your-”

“Mouth,” Dean finishes, shrugging, and then the mouth Cas is apparently supposed to be finishing in is enveloping him once again, and Cas groans, fingers twisting in Dean’s hair, and you know what, Dean has a point, because as much as one might argue that one wipe won’t hurt if it spares Dean the awkwardness and/or discomfort of getting a mouthful of his best friend’s come and then having to _swallow_ it, the reality is that ‘just one’ can really add up over time and then you end up with a heaping landfill full of wipe-fibers and nasty chemicals and oh – oh _God,_ Cas is slipping into Dean’s throat and Dean is groaning around him, one hand tugging on his hip while the other keeps thrusting the vibrator into Cas’s eagerly clenching hole, and Cas is squirming and shuddering and pulling Dean’s hair and he thinks he might be _shouting_ and-

His hips lift off the bed, shamelessly shoving toward Dean’s mouth, and then he comes with a garbled, incoherent cry, going tight around the vibrator.

Dean chokes, just a little.

Then he moans around Cas’s dick and swallows every last drop.

Cas is boneless and paralyzed, chest heaving and stars in his vision as Dean gives him a few last, gentle licks and then slowly eases the toy out, setting it aside to be cleaned.

He touches Cas’s thigh, thumbing across the crease where it meets his hip, and Cas blinks up at the bedroom ceiling, vaguely unseeing.

“I – just – I need a minute, and then I’ll do you,” he promises, still trying to process what just happened.

“I, uh, I can do me, if you want.”

“No, I will,” Cas insists, because in no universe is it fair for Cas to get everything he just got and leave Dean to eke one out with only the aid of his own probably-cramping right hand.

Because even if Cas _were_ a selfish bastard who wanted Dean’s mouth and fingers and everything else completely at his own leisure, day in and day out, the fact of the matter is that Dean will stop _giving_ them if Cas doesn’t do anything in return.

“How about later?” Dean suggests, and he has the nerve to sound _amused._ “You, uh. You don’t look like you’re movin’ any time soon.”

With monumental effort, Cas struggles onto shaking elbows, squinting.

“I can. Lie down.”

Dean smiles at him.

(Cas doesn’t understand how he ever looked at that smile and thought he wouldn’t one day be in love with it.)

“Sure, Cas,” he says, and then he puts the flat of his palm to Cas’s chest and pushes him back down.

“Not _me-_ ” Cas starts, vexed, but then Dean’s easing down beside him, tucking his chin over Cas’s shoulder as he lies partway on his chest, and a moment later, Cas feels Dean’s knuckles brush against his hip as he takes himself in hand.

“Put your arm around me,” Dean murmurs, and that, at least, Cas can do.

He turns a little, wrapping the arm Dean’s not lying on around his shoulders, and shivers when he feels the wet slide of Dean’s cock against his skin.

“Shit, sorry-” Dean starts, trying to pull back, but Cas just tightens his hold, resisting the temptation to laugh.

“Dean. I expect to have you in my mouth, later. This is fine.”

Dean shudders and goes quiet, just barely thrusting against Cas’s hip, and God, Cas wishes he could offer more, could tell Dean it would be fine if he wanted to settle between Cas’s legs and let his dick brush up against something else entirely, but this is still not sex and Dean still doesn’t want that and the _important_ thing, in all of this, is that Dean enjoy what they _are_ doing, at least close to as much as Cas is.

Anyway, Cas lightly strokes Dean’s shoulder, petting through his hair while Dean pants and rocks beside him, and after hardly any time at all, Dean’s spine curls and his shoulders tense and his head tucks into Cas’s neck, breaths hot and rough against it, and then Dean lets out a quiet groan and says, ‘Fuck, _Cas,_ ’ and far sooner than Cas expected, Dean locks up in his arms and comes.

Cas blinks down at his hair, surprised.

“That was fast,” he remarks after a moment, not thinking, and Dean’s trembling body stiffens.

“Uh. I – uh.”

“I’m not complaining,” Cas says hastily. “Obviously, I don’t, um. I don’t care, either way, but . . .”

Dean clears his throat, though he doesn’t unbury himself from the crook of Cas’s neck.

“Well, you were already done, so – so I wanted to hurry.”

“Oh.” Cas frowns. That doesn’t seem fair. “Dean, you never have to hurry. You spent a long time on me. I don’t ever want you to feel rushed.”

Honestly, to Cas’s feverish, lust-addled mind, it seemed like Dean spent _eons_ working him open and playing with the vibration settings of the toy and teasing Cas’s cock with his tongue and then swallowing him down – among other brain-melting ministrations – and for Dean to then feel like he had to finish within minutes from some clearly inferior self-stimulation is a _terrible_ injustice.

Dean abruptly rolls away and sits up, rubbing the back of his flushed neck.

“Right. Uh – noted. But it’s fine. I didn’t mind. I still wanna make dinner and catch a show before I have to do some more work.”

Oh. That’s fair; finals are fast approaching, and given just how long Dean _did_ spend thoroughly working him over, he probably felt like they legitimately didn’t have the time, today.

Still-

“Next time,” Cas promises, lightly touching his hip. “Next time, we’ll start with you.”

Dean turns back then, smiling slightly, cheeks red, and reaches out with his clean hand to tousle Cas’s hair.

“Well, I won’t stop you,” he jokes.

And then he leans down, rather far down, and Cas jerks in confused surprise before Dean freezes about six inches away, eyes going wide.

Cas swallows. His pulse, finally beginning to settle, picks back up.

“Eyelash,” Dean says suddenly, hand moving to Cas’s face. “Hang on a sec, lemme just-”

He gently pinches over the soft skin beneath Cas’s left eye and quickly brushes his fingers against the sheet.

“All set,” he announces, reaching for his t-shirt and carelessly wiping off Cas’s hip. “ _Way_ too hot to put that back on.”

Cas doesn’t really feel safe evaluating the temperature of the apartment, at the moment, but since he can agree that it was too hot earlier, he accepts this – although it’s possible he should go shower, anyway.

Before bed, he decides. He doesn’t usually like to go to bed right after a shower, but even if it _weren’t_ too hot . . .

He has someone to keep him warm, now.

“So,” Dean asks, sliding out of the bed and moving into a stretch while Cas unabashedly admires the sight. “What do you feel like eating?”

“What do we still have in our pantry?” Cas asks, because the fridge is basically empty of everything except beer, assorted condiments, a brick of cream cheese, and most of a family pack of Velveeta neither of them will own to having either purchased or eaten.

Really, they need to go to a grocery store, but Dean seems much more at ease these days, and as stressful as it is for Cas not to have the food he’d _normally_ eat – like fresh things, things that maybe grew out of the ground, even – all of the affection and orgasms and the lack of paranoid outbursts or panicked meltdowns compensate for a lot of it.

Anyway, Dean rolls his eyes.

“Plenty of things,” he says, almost like he knows Cas is thinking about crossing the sacred barrier of the front door into the dangerous world outside just so he can forage for sustenance of greater nutritional merit than exhausted-parent pantry staples. “How about some tuna helper?”

Cas isn’t sick of tuna helper _quite_ yet, but he knows it’s just a matter of time.

Still, he nods. It’s fast, and they do have studying to do, and he wants Dean back in bed sooner rather than later.

“Sounds good, Dean.”

By the time they set aside the laptops and stretch out cramped legs and Dean is bitching about a headache he can tell Cas is feeling, too, it’s after eleven and Dean wants nothing more than to do a half-assed scrub of his face and teeth and crawl straight back into bed.

That is, until Cas stops him with a firm hand around his wrist, blue eyes strangely calculating when Dean turns back.

“Before we get ready for bed,” he starts slowly. “I think I owe you from earlier.”

Which is a little confusing, to be honest, because _earlier_ , Cas pretty much laid back and let Dean go to town on him. He didn’t say a word about Dean unnecessarily cycling through every fucking setting on that pink and white cat, playing around with it like he’d never seen a vibrator before, gee, wonder what it can do, or about Dean teasing the head of his cock with slow, tiny licks, fingertips of his free hand working the base of Cas’s shaft and painstakingly trailing up over the rest of it like maybe he’d never seen one of _those_ before, either.

Nor did Cas say anything about the pace Dean set once he actually got down to business, the kind of pace that leaves you keyed up and wanting and not quite able to get there because some asshole is more interested in savoring a totally casual, unexceptional moment between platonic buddies instead of sucking you and proxy-fucking you straight to orgasm like he promised.

Honestly, part of Dean was starting to wonder if he maybe took it too far, because even when he finally reminded himself that no, Cas’s body was actually _not_ a wonderland for Dean’s own personal frolicking and enjoyment and started trying in earnest, Cas wasn’t biting. And while Dean might not appreciate the things strange men in dive bars have _said_ about his mouth, he can appreciate that a lot of those things are true, and the fact that it took Cas _that_ long after Dean had kind of expected to have him so out of his mind he was holding Dean’s head still and practically fucking his face while he desperately rode his fingers and came down his throat, Dean was starting to worry he wasn’t _going_ to _,_ because maybe all those creepy randos propositioning him in bars were _wrong._

But then Cas started squirming and rocking his hips and, best of all, trying to tear out every strand of hair he could get his hands on – a thing Dean is pretty sure Cas would only do if he literally couldn’t control himself – and sure enough . . .

Dean clears his throat. As much as he’s going to be thinking about the way Cas moved and sounded and, you know, _came in_ _his_ _mouth,_ no questions asked, for the rest of his pathetic goddamn life, now is not the time.

Because clearly, Cas has no fucking clue how hot blowing him actually made Dean – really, he should have been insulted Dean hadn’t _already_ finished – and because of that, he thinks he actually _owes_ Dean for it.

“I, uh, I wouldn’t say that,” Dean says cautiously. “Besides, you seem tired.”

Cas shrugs.

“It’s hard for me to go straight from work to sleep. I’d like to wind down.” He pauses. “Unless _you’re_ too tired.”

 _Is_ Dean too tired to lie back and think of having to perform maintenance and repairs on cars whose owners have never changed the oil while Cas puts his gorgeous mouth on Dean’s bare cock and maybe does super awesome things to it with his tongue as Dean tries and fails not to embarrass himself for a second time in one day?

It’s a valid question, in the same way ‘would Dean try to eat an entire apple pie with a bacon and cheese lattice top covered in cool whip’ is a valid question.

(The answer, to both, is: _why the fuck are you even asking?_ )

“Well . . . I could probably stay awake,” he hedges. He doesn’t want to seem _too_ eager, after all, and more than that, he doesn’t want Cas to feel pressured or anything. Dean was happy – really, really happy – to blow him earlier; he doesn’t want Cas to do anything he’s not comfortable with just to even the score.

Cas frowns slightly, and Dean mentally kicks himself.

“Like, I’m fucking wiped, but if there’s anything in the world I _could_ stay awake for, you sucking me off would be it.”

The frown disappears, but then Cas sort of stares at Dean like he’s thinking about that, which he really shouldn’t, because in retrospect, Dean’s pretty sure that was too far in the other direction.

He hastily settles back against the pillows.

“But, uh, we should – probably – before it gets too late? You know?”

Cas continues looking at him blankly for a moment, and then the frown returns.

“Aren’t you going to undress?”

“Uh.” It’s not strictly necessary, for what Cas is proposing, but if Dean being naked will make Cas feel more comfortable about blowing him, Dean’s not about to argue. “Sure.”

He wriggles out of his boxers and t-shirt, surprised but definitely not upset when Cas does the same, and just as Cas reaches for his leg, a horrible thought occurs to Dean.

He has been sitting in this bed, in the midst of an eagerly budding summer, stress-sweating his way through his studies for the better part of a _day_.

And Cas – Cas is about to put his _mouth_ on Dean’s _dick,_ a dick that has been shrouded in some unholy blend of cotton and spandex for God-knows-how-many hours, a blend which no amount of intended breathability could exempt from such a strenuous test of hygiene, which has probably been brewing some hostile chemical environment specifically designed to discourage Cas from ever wanting to put his face near Dean’s dick again.

He shrugs off Cas’s hand, throwing his legs over the side of the bed in a panic.

“I have to use the bathroom,” he declares, then rushes from the room before Cas can protest.

What was he _thinking?_ he asks himself, darting into the bathroom and shoving a clean washcloth under the warm stream of water, furiously rubbing some shower gel into it until it foams. He gives himself a thorough scrub, then goes over a second time just to be safe, and by the time he’s tried and failed to maneuver an adequate rinse with the sink and stepped into the tub to turn the tap on as quietly as possible and splash all the suds away, he hopes Cas will just assume he briefly drifted off on the toilet or something.

Cas is criss-cross on the bed when Dean comes back into the room, watching the doorway with dark eyes, and he straightens up when Dean reappears.

“I was starting to worry.”

Dean lifts a brow, though actually, Cas does look kind of relieved _._

“You’re not seriously gonna ask a guy about his bathroom habits?” he jokes, then sort of grimaces, because god damn it, Cas is about to suck his dick, the last thing he probably wants to think about are Dean’s _bathroom_ habits.

Cas just shrugs, smiling, and after a beat, pats the space next to him. Dean immediately starts forward, grinning back at him as he climbs onto the bed and settles into it.

“So . . . how do you want me?”

Cas studies him for a moment, then lifts his shoulder.

“We’re winding down. You can just, um. Lie back.”

Honestly, if Cas asked him to hold a fucking plank for half-an hour while he slithered underneath Dean like an art thief sneaking past a laser trap, or even a sexy, blowjob-giving snake, Dean would do it, no questions asked.

“Lying back sounds good,” he says casually, and just as casually lowers himself back against the pillows, hoping he looks appropriately interested and grateful for what’s about to happen without looking _too_ interested or desperate for it to happen at all.

Cas keeps smiling at him, though, and he wastes no time nudging Dean’s knees a little further apart and crawling between them, smoothly shifting onto his stomach.

Dean hopes it’s not too weird to already be kinda hard in anticipation of your buddy giving you a friendly blowjob. A blowjob is a blowjob, right? And he’s twenty-two, which he’s pretty sure means he’s still allowed to get stiff fairly indiscriminately, as long as he’s discreet when it happens.

Anyway, Cas just makes himself comfortable and props up on his elbows and starts leaning forward, clearly unbothered by Dean’s partial, and Dean’s _just_ about to relax when-

Cas freezes, inches away from his visibly intrigued cock.

“Dean. I thought you just . . . used the bathroom.”

Dean quickly looks down, anxious, because he actually didn’t and if there’s something gross happening down there, he has no idea how the hell it came to be.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I – I did.”

Cas hesitates.

“Why does your penis smell like lemonade?”

Dean blinks, taken aback.

“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s your imagination?”

Cas frowns, breathing in and squinting.

“No. It definitely smells like lemons.”

“Okay. Well. That – oh, _I_ know,” he says, trying to sound reasonable. “That, uh, that’s probably the lemon juice supplement I take.”

Cas stares at him.

“You take a lemon juice supplement? For what?”

Dean swallows.

“For . . . the . . . well, the acidity. It, uh. It helps the pH. In the blood. Mine was low, at my last physical, and it – well, it can really fuck up your kidneys, so, uh, here we are. Must be a – a weird side effect.”

Cas’s brow furrows.

“I – alright. I’ve never heard of that.”

“Oh, well, it – it’s really rare. It’s because I – don’t eat fruits or vegetables.”

“I thought that gave you scurvy.”

“Yeah, yeah, it does, but – you know, lemon juice helps with that, too.”

Cas sort of looks at him for a long moment.

And then he coughs into his hand.

“Ah. Okay, Dean.” He puts his hands on Dean’s bare thighs, expression weirdly neutral. “Well, it’s a very nice, um, side effect. I appreciate it.”

Dean relaxes a little, relieved; thank _God_ Cas isn’t pre-med, or else he wouldn’t have believed a word of that.

“Awesome.” He clears his throat. “But, uh, I know I took a while, so if you’re too tired-”

Cas gives him a sharp look.

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool.”

Cas’s hands slide up, cresting over Dean’s hips and, predictably, coming to rest on his goddamn ‘love handles’ or whatever gross, inexplicable bullshit people – probably handlebar-mustached ones in the seventies – decided to call them, because Cas has the weirdest fucking thing in the world about Dean’s worst bodily feature (which it is, and Mom calling it his ‘adorable little tum-tum’ helps not at all) and that is just something they both have to live with.

“Then . . . I’m going to start.”

Dean nods, awkwardly giving Cas a thumbs up; not that that was probably _necessary,_ given the way his cock sort of twitches, perking up now that the lemony freshness has been adequately explained away, but hey – it can’t hurt.

Cas looks at him for a moment.

Then he smiles.

And _then_ he leans down and touches the tip of his tongue to Dean’s cock, and in that moment, Dean genuinely believes he’s never going to worry about anything ever again.

Dean’s on his third cup of coffee the next morning, glowering at a finicky problem set he’s either doing perfectly or completely fucking up, when Cas emerges from his bedroom, looking a little disappointed.

Dean immediately pushes aside the laptop, concerned.

“Hey, buddy, what’s up? Thought you had a Skype date with your sister.”

“I did. We were painting our nails.” Cas shrugs, examining the glittery purple of his left hand. Dean would be more disconcerted by that, but Cas always does weird shit with his sister during stress times, not to mention normal times, and if he was a little startled by Cas’s lack of self-consciousness when they first met, sparkly purple fingernails are nothing now. “But her roommate is kind of having a meltdown.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that. I, uh, I know a lot of people are taking this whole lockdown thing kinda hard.”

Cas gives him an inscrutable look.

“They are,” he agrees after a moment, then sighs. “I suppose I should get some work done.”

Dean hesitates.

“What about your right hand?”

Cas shrugs.

“It doesn’t really matter. I can just leave it bare.”

“There’s a bare-handed joke in here somewhere.”

Cas’s lips quirk.

“Please don’t try to find it.”

Dean smiles back, but he’s not really interested in the joke so much as the fact that Cas seems kind of down about it and Dean’s sick of working, no matter how much he needs to.

(And if he’s being totally honest, seeing only one of Cas’s hands done is going to drive him low-key crazy.)

“Alright.” He shuts the laptop, rolling his shoulders as he stands. “You didn’t put your stuff away yet, right?”

Cas squints.

“No, but-”

“Then c’mon. Let’s go to your room and I can finish you off.”

Cas blinks.

“I can paint it. I would have, if she hadn’t had to cut the call short.”

Dean shrugs.

“But I’m here and I want a break, so . . . move it.”

Cas opens his mouth, then shuts it.

“Alright.”

He turns, and Dean follows him to the bedroom where they spend most of their days, now.

“I can do yours, if you want,” Cas offers, and while normally Dean would return a polite _hell no_ to that, it’s not like anyone but Cas is gonna see him.

Besides, Cas _might_ play strict about palms pressed flat to the magazine, but there’s a very small chance he’ll just hold Dean’s hands himself, and actually, Dean feels like he could maybe use a little handholding right now.

“Sure. Knock yourself out.”

Cas looks surprised, but pleased.

“What color?”

Dean shrugs.

“Whatever you want, Cas. You’re the only one who’s gonna see me.”

Cas nods slowly, tilting his head.

“Alright. I’ll think about it.”

They settle criss-cross on either side of the old _National Geographic,_ and Cas lays his right hand down on the cover while Dean reaches for the base coat. Cas raises a brow at that, for some reason, but he doesn’t say anything while Dean uncaps it, carefully tapping away some excess and reaching for Cas’s hand.

(God, he loves Cas’s hands.)

He’s finished up and let it dry, in the process of neatly slicking down a thin layer of glitter-laden purple over it, when Cas speaks.

“You’re very good at this.”

Dean shrugs.

“I’m okay. Sam’s better,” he adds, and it’s true; Sam’s the one who actually did his own, sometimes, and like Cas, didn’t see a problem with going to school rocking loud, multi-colored nails, even though there were times when it was _definitely_ a problem.

(Considering how long it took for him to really hit puberty, the kid is _so_ lucky Dean was his older brother.)

Cas raises his brows.

“Explain.”

Dean laughs, unnecessarily slipping his index finger beneath Cas’s thumb as he strokes the tiny brush across the nail.

“Well, Mom always did hers before date night, and she’d let me do her right hand for her, you know, so we could spend some time together. Of course, I was like, four, when we started doing that, and after a while of fucking hers up, I decided I wanted to do mine, too.”

Cas smiles.

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think so. He freaked the fuck out.”

Cas’s smile drops.

“Oh.”

Dean shrugs, wincing when he almost paints into the nailbed.

“Yeah. When I was a kid, Dad was a little more – you know, this kind of thing, when _he_ was growing up, was just . . . yeah. He worried the other kids would give me trouble, or that I’d get confused about who I was – shit like that. I mean, he knows better now, but at the time . . .” He tucks the cap back on the bottle to wait for the coat to dry, sighing. “Anyway, one of the first things I can remember is my parents fighting about that. And _God,_ you should’ve heard the one when I asked for ballet lessons.”

Cas’s brow furrows.

“Did you get them?”

“Eh.” Dean sits back on his hands, shrugging. “Briefly, but the other kids were kind of dicks about it. Like, I told ‘em where to stick it, but – it still makes you feel shitty, you know? But the studio closed down, anyway, so . . . short-lived dream.”

Cas surveys him sadly, although Dean’s talking about what was probably less than a half-a-year of dumb drama when he was barely more than a toddler.

“You would have made a gorgeous dancer,” Cas says, unexpected, and Dean sort of takes a second to process that before he raises a brow.

“Think I’m a little taller than they like the primas to be, Cas. It was never meant to be.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but at least the big, solemn-eyed look is gone.

“Alright. So, if your father had a problem with it – how are you still good at nail-painting? And why is Sam supposedly better?”

Dean smiles.

“Well, they had one of their knock-down, drag-out fights over it, and eventually they compromised; we couldn’t paint _mine,_ but I was allowed to keep massacring hers. Anyway, by the time Sam was old enough to wanna play paints with Mommy, Dad gave way fewer fucks – even bought the kid a damn _Barbie_ for his sixth birthday when he asked – and while I still just stuck to helping, it’s something we did with her, growing up. So . . . all’s well that ends well.”

The look Cas gives him strongly suggests he disagrees, but Dean gets where his Dad was coming from, didn’t feel great about getting teased over the ballet thing or about having to intervene in Sam’s righteous playground fights before he got hurt, and while he thinks it would have been _nice_ if Dad had let him do what he wanted and maybe just backed him up when he needed it – he understands not wanting your kid to go through that.

Anyway, the point is, they’re good now, Dean’s not psychologically scarred or anything, and since Cas needs a second coat of purple before Dean tops him, Dean’s just glad he’s got the coordination to do all of it.

“So, do I get sparkles, too, or what?”

Cas narrows his eyes, though he splays his fingers when he sees Dean reaching for the polish bottle again.

“Yes. Anna sent me one called ‘Unicorn Splooge’. It has a rainbow-shift in the light.”

Dean sighs.

“Of course it does.”

“It’s nice.” Cas pauses, watching him. “It’ll match the shorts you’re going to wear for pilates later.”

“Can’t wait,” Dean says dryly, because of _course_ Cas has tiny shorts in holographic rainbow.

Cas just smiles down at his hand, mysteriously pleased, and when Dean puts it like that – when Dean puts it in terms of Cas’s secret smiles, of Cas being pleased, of Cas looking like _he’s_ looking forward to it, even if Dean feels like a dumbass – well, maybe Dean’s kind of looking forward to it, too.

Anyway, three hours later, when Cas has his purple-nailed fingers laced with Dean’s pastel rainbow ones and is pressing them against the yoga mat, the unattractively snug waistband of Dean’s frankly _ridiculous_ shorts tucked under his cock while Cas sucks it with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, considering Dean just sweat his way through a thirty minute leg workout and most definitely doesn’t smell like lemons – it’s clear that Dean should have been looking forward to it a lot more than he thought.

Cas licks him clean when he’s finished and jumps to his feet to claim first shower, Dean still lying limp and panting on the mat with his dick hanging out of his stupid rainbow shorts because his legs are jello in a way that has zip to do with thirty minutes of pilates and everything to do with the fact that Cas has a really nice mouth and it feels really nice doing things to Dean’s body and anyway, if Dean tried to walk to a shower right now, he’d probably fall over.

Still-

“Don’t take care of that,” he manages, gesturing weakly towards Cas’s tented shorts, and since he can’t really say _because I want to,_ he adds: “I haven’t fixed the soap dish.”

Cas tilts his head, absently brushing his fingers over his mouth, but not in a _gross, Dean’s dick and come_ sort of way, but more like a _mm, I have a mouth_ kind of way and Dean swears he feels his spent cock twitch again.

“The soap dish is a plus, but not a necessity.”

“Right, right, but – I’m just saying. We just did legs again, I don’t want you to slip and fall when I could just give you a hand once you’re done showering.”

Cas considers this for a moment, then shrugs, turning away.

“Alright. I suppose I can wait.”

Dean settles back onto the mat, relieved.

“Awesome. See you in a bit.”

Cas just lifts a hand and starts toward the bathroom in a way Dean would almost describe as a _saunter,_ which doesn’t really bode well for Cas hurrying, nice as it might be to watch.

But to his surprise, a towel-clad Cas is emerging from the barely-steamy bathroom less than five minutes later, just when Dean’s finally managed to tuck himself back into his shorts and sit up.

And by some miracle, it looks like Cas might still be _hard._

Cas clears his throat, looking a little unsure for some reason as he hovers in the hallway.

“So . . . are you going to shower first?”

Dean blinks, trying not to stare too hard at the water droplet slowly meandering towards Cas’s flushed pink nipple.

“Uh. I thought I was gonna give you a hand?”

Cas reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I, um, I wasn’t sure what order would be – or how you wanted to . . .” he trails off, cheeks a little red.

“Oh.” Which raises an excellent point, because- “Actually, I’m probably too gross to get on the bed.”

Cas nods, and Dean swears he looks a little disappointed, though it quickly turns to surprise as Dean puts his hands forward and starts crawling toward him.

“Um,” Cas says, clearly confused, and Dean pauses in the doorway.

“You mind leaning back against the wall?”

“Oh.” Cas swallows, then quickly backs up, wincing as he steps into the wall with what sounds like more force than he probably intended. “No, I – I don’t mind.”

“Awesome.” Dean scoots forward the remaining few feet, raising his brows. “Towel?”

“What?”

Dean licks his lips, reaching out to touch the pale blue terrycloth where it folds over at the waist.

Cas’s stomach jumps above his hand.

“Your towel. Can I take it off?”

“Yeah,” Cas says quickly, pushing away from the wall. “Of course. Sorry.”

Dean tugs it free and lets it fall, Cas’s cock left hanging red and heavy in front of him. They’re renting, and the carpet is kind of shitty, and also Dean just did a leg workout and had an orgasm so his thighs are already kind of aching, so he’s ninety-nine percent sure he’s going to be sore after this, assuming something doesn’t cramp before he makes it that far.

Still, he slips a hand around Cas’s hip, letting his fingers rest along the curve behind it – as long as he doesn’t actually grope Cas’s ass, it’s okay to hold onto him for balance, right? - and glances up, meeting Cas’s eyes.

“You should, uh. You should hold onto me. My head. Just to be safe.”

Cas looks confused, but tentatively raises his hands, glittery purple glinting in the daylight.

“Okay,” he agrees, looking down at Dean with wide eyes as he gently fits his hands to the curve of Dean’s head.

Dean sighs, instinctively giving Cas’s hip an answering squeeze.

The fingers in his hair tighten.

In response, Dean just leans forward and swallows him down.

Blowjobs, Cas has decided, are an absolutely fantastic addition to friendly masturbation.

Probably the only conceivable downside to them is the question of, ‘does this still _count_ as friendly masturbation?’ but since Cas was too sore and weak-kneed to keep himself upright in the hallway and he needs to wash the sheets anyway – at least, that’s what he told Dean – and all of that means he’s now snug in bed, Dean leisurely mouthing around his cock like he _wasn’t_ planning on showering or studying or cooking dinner or any of those other important real-life things – like he has absolutely nothing better to do than sprawl between Cas’s legs and lave his cock with all the slow, sweet, thorough attention Cas never knew he needed – Cas doesn’t really _care_ about downsides _._

He fights to keep his eyes open, lightly petting over Dean’s hair and watching him as he works. He kind of loves it when they get off together like this, a rare change from the usual panting heat and frantic race to the finish; he loves that, too – obviously – but there’s just something about spending forever in bed together, stripped bare and tangled up and slowly working their way there, that’s just . . .

Cas gently runs the edges of his neatly painted purple nails across Dean’s scalp, racing heart sort of squeezing inside his chest.

(Which – Dean is perfect, Cas has decided. Cas thinks anyone out there could name a secret, specific preference, and lo and behold, Dean would turn out to possess that very quality, in addition to all the other wonderful ones he’s exhibited to date.)

(Well, unless your preference was ‘incredibly laid-back when it comes to global pandemics’ and ‘unobtrusively respectful of your personal decisions regarding how to handle risk’ but look, nobody is _actually_ perfect.)

“When things open up,” he starts quietly, a little afraid of disturbing Dean’s slow, relaxed rhythm, and Dean freezes.

He pops off of Cas’s dick with a wet sound, Cas flinching as his tongue drags along the underside it, Dean’s teeth just barely scraping in the process.

“When things open up, we’re still not going anywhere.”

Cas sighs, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair in as soothing a way as he can manage.

“I mean when things are _safe._ ”

Dean gives him a suspicious look, but nods, and after a moment, starts licking at Cas’s cock, light little flicks that Cas accepts only because Dean’s jaw is probably tired and Cas wants to be getting his dick tenderly worshiped for as long as earthly possible.

“Do you want to . . . would you like to take dance classes together?”

Dean pauses again, this time looking surprised.

“Dance classes?”

“Yeah. Maybe even – ballet. Anna’s best friend from college teaches, actually. She could probably give us a good rate.”

Dean blinks.

“Uh. I don’t know. Think maybe the horse has already left the barn on that one.”

“Maybe. But . . . if you still wanted to try it again, even if we just went once – I’d be happy to try it with you.”

Dean considers this for a moment, and then he smiles.

“Yeah, okay. Might be a few years before it’s ‘safe,’ but sure. Sounds like a plan, Cas.”

Dean is joking, and Cas shouldn’t read too much into a suggestion that if some sort of quarantine _does_ last several years, Dean would still be spending it with him.

Still.

“Fair. I’ll let Anna know.”

Dean just hums and sinks his warm, wet mouth back around Cas’s shaft, and Cas decides they can sort out the logistics – or perhaps discuss Dean wearing tights and a leotard – at a later date.

The next morning, Dean’s just brewed more coffee and settled on the sofa by himself to work – for some reason, Cas gave him a weirdly resigned, forlorn look after the first cup and said he should probably study on his own for a little while; though Dean’s instincts immediately protested, even if the very small reasonable part of his brain suggested that _maybe_ he works more efficiently if Cas isn’t sitting next to him looking like an unpunched ticket to Orgasm Land – when his phone goes off.

He leans over, squinting at the screen, and is pleasantly surprised to see Charlie’s name lit up. He’s been so wrapped up in school and Cas and the horror that is the news and also Cas, and having orgasms with Cas, it’s been a while since they talked.

_> > hey dean, got a minute?_

_ << sure charlie. Whats up_

_ >> not a lot. Just had a couple questions_

_ << yeah, shoot_

_ >> great_

There’s a pause, and then:

_> > a: why is your neighbor asking me to ask you to stop having sex so loudly? and b: when the HELL were you going to tell me you were having sex with Cas????_

Dean’s stomach drops.

_I’m not_ , he texts back quickly. _Shit, you didn’t say anything to Cas, did you?_

It’s been less than five seconds since he hit send when his phone rings, and he hastily picks up, throwing a glance over his shoulder to double-check Cas’s door is still shut.

“ _Dude,_ ” Charlie sputters once it connects. “Are you trying to say you’re having sex with someone _else_ while Cas is stuck having to listen one room away?”

Dean makes a face.

“Of course not. I haven’t been with anyone in like, a million years, and even if I was, I wouldn’t bring them here.”

Even if Dean could somehow muster interest in someone else, he definitely doesn’t think he could perform with Cas anywhere in the vicinity.

And especially _now –_ the idea of getting down and dirty with someone else feels wrong for a lot more reasons than virus transmission. Hell, even something over Skype; that just seems – maybe he and Cas aren’t having sex, but if Dean’s being totally honest, that’s just semantics, as far as he’s concerned.

“Okay? Then why is Izzy asking _me_ to ask you guys to try and keep it down? What are you _doing_?”

Dean hesitates.

“We’re just – we’re definitely not having sex, but uh, quarantine’s been kinda hard on us, and neither one of us likes going to our room by ourselves-” at least, Dean thinks that was the reason this whole thing started, but honestly, it’s getting kind of fuzzy “-so we just – sometimes we help each other masturbate.”

“You – what?”

“You know. We masturbate together. As, uh, dudes tend to do.”

There’s a long silence.

And then:

“I mean. _Do_ they?” Charlie asks , and Dean swears to God he can _hear_ the squint.

“Totally,” he lies. “All the time. You put on the french vanilla of pornos and kick back with a cold one in your living room and just kinda . . . chill out together.”

Because even if that is a lie, it shouldn’t be. Maybe _Dean_ doesn’t like having his dick out or touching himself or reaching orgasm around people he’s not being directly intimate with, but actually, that’s probably just a cultural thing, because homophobia and Marlboro Man nonsense and all that other toxic masculinity stuff that makes dudes freak out over having feelings and personalities.

The reality is, if he and Cas were girls, this wouldn’t be _nearly_ as weird, would it? He’s pretty sure they do this kind of thing all the time. Maybe none of the girls he actually knows, but Charlie’s a lesbian and Jo is _something_ and anyway, they probably wouldn’t tell him about it any more than they’d tell him about all the times they hugged or got together for coffee. But even if it’s considered weird for one dude friend to suck off another dude friend without calling it friends with benefits or at least severe denial, _chicks_ can do similar things without it being weird, can’t they? They’re really _not_ friends with benefits, but they’ll make out or do some light petting just ‘cause they’re bored and lonely and they trust each other, and no one thinks it’s that strange because girls are close and they’re allowed to cuddle and hold hands and all kinds of shit without people automatically calling it ‘gay.’

In fact – one could argue that really, he and Cas are just sticking it to shitty, homophobic gender norms, couldn’t they?

It takes him a while to realize there’s another long silence happening.

“Riiiiight. Yeah, anyway – that’s actually not what you said.”

“Huh?”

“You said you _helped_ each other masturbate. Explain?”

Dean coughs.

“Just – uh. You know. Nothing major, just – a little snuggling. To – to kinda reassure each other.”

In fact, yesterday, Dean’s mouth very happily snuggled Cas’s dick for close to an hour and it was _so_ reassuring he came a second time, just from rubbing up against the sheet while he did it.

More silence follows, and Dean starts to wonder if maybe Charlie’s _not_ judging him; maybe they actually just have a really bad connection.

“Do me a favor?” she says suddenly, and he hesitates.

“Yeah?”

“Go to your wallet?”

Dean frowns, but gets up off the sofa and heads to his vaguely dusty jacket, reaching into the pocket.

“Okay. I’ve got my wallet.”

“Open it up.”

Dean opens it, baffled.

“Open.”

“Now, find your queer card, and take it out. Then, put it in an envelope and mail it to me, because _you don’t deserve it anymore_.”

Dean almost drops his wallet, gaping at the phone.

“What?”

“You are _not_ just ‘bros helping bros’ or whatever dumb thing you’re telling yourself. Your neighbor’s complaining about sex noises because _you’re having sex_.”

Dean grits his teeth, shoving the wallet back in his pocket and feeling like an idiot for going along with such a transparent, obvious farce.

“Charlie. We’re _not._ And I swear to God, if you say anything to Cas-”

“Are you _kidding_ me-”

“No! And I mean it – Cas and I are _good_ , we both know what’s what, so just – tell Izzy we’ll try to be quieter and _leave it alone._ Okay?”

The last thing Dean wants is for Cas to feel so self-conscious he’s not okay asking for what he needs. Cas has a hard enough time with that as it is, thank you very much, and Dean’s not going to risk his comfort and well-being just because Charlie wants to project dumb, stereotypical ideas about masculine friendship onto what he has with Cas.

“Oh, my God,” she mutters. “Seriously, Dean, I can’t even. Like, sit down and think about it. Put yourself in my shoes.”

Which again, _especially_ for girls, it’s not weird to snuggle up while you get off. Even if Charlie said her roommate was eating her out while they watched _Princesses of Power;_ like, it’s lockdown, and nobody’s doing hookups, so helping each other out when you know there’s nothing more to it just makes _sense_.

For some reason, when he tries to tell Charlie that, she just sighs, long and loud, and then hangs up.

Anyway, it kind of bugs Dean, so instead of finishing up his essay, he sneaks off to his room and calls Sam.

He patiently makes small-talk for a while, and when they’ve sufficiently discussed Dad’s broken leg and Sam’s cabin-fevered roommate and Dean has tried to reserve judgment about the fucking daily runs Sammy apparently goes on – to think Dean thought _Cas_ was irresponsible – and Dean’s dismissed Sam’s offhand comment about how he thinks there’s talk of things opening up soon (Dean’ll check the news, but there’s no way Sam’s right, because that sounds like an obvious disaster waiting to happen), Dean takes a deep breath and tries to look casual.

“So . . . you’ve masturbated with friends before, right? Or do? Sometimes?”

Sam looks startled, brows climbing.

“Um. Like. I’ve watched porn with them a couple of times.”

Dean nods.

“Yeah, yeah, same thing.”

Sam makes a face.

“Is it? The other thing you said makes it sound like you’re . . . I don’t know. Like you’re masturbating _together_ toge-”

Sam stops short, forehead creasing.

“Dude. What the hell happened to your neck?”

“Huh?” Dean glances down, alarmed – what if it’s one of those rashes some people are getting with the virus? – but all he sees is the fading marks Cas left all over the base of his throat, though he knows there’s probably more further up where he can’t quite see.

Anyway, he doesn’t get a chance to even _try_ and explain, because Sam’s eyes go wide.

“You – oh, my _God,_ you’re _sleeping_ together!” he exclaims, and Dean winces, quickly stabbing the Volume Down key because jesus _christ,_ put together, Sam and Charlie are gonna give Cas a fucking complex.

“We _aren’t_!” he hisses, gritting his teeth. “We’re really not, I just – I help him out sometimes, okay? And he likes to kinda – put his face in my neck, so we don’t make eye contact, you know, ‘cause that would be weird-” although Cas seems to have forgotten that rule, when it comes to the blowjobs, but Dean’s not too worried about it. Whatever makes Cas comfortable is fine, obviously “-but it can get kinda intense for him and sometimes he just . . . yeah.”

Sam stares, blank, for a long minute.

“Right,” he eventually says. “Um. Yeah, I . . . I’m gonna need a minute.”

Dean makes a face.

“What? Why?”

His brother just frowns, then opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out, though, and after a few moments, he shuts it again.

“So . . . like, that’s . . . really not normal?”

Dean bristles.

“So? Cas and I don’t have to be _normal_ to be happy with each other,” he insists, then quickly adds, “As friends, I mean.”

Sam looks dismayed.

“Dean, I don’t . . . listen, are you guys getting enough fresh air and Vitamin D and stuff? You’d be surprised what kind of impact that can have on your health. Like, your mental health,” he adds for some reason, even though that’s not really the issue here.

“Uh, yeah, and trust me, I make sure Cas gets plenty of D, too, but – what does that have to do with anything?”

His brother just stares, baleful.

“Right,” he finally says, slow. “I think – you know what? This is way above my paygrade. I’m just – I’ll talk to someone and see if I can somehow fix you, but in the meantime – maybe you should just tell Cas you love him? Maybe?”

And the weird thing is, Sam doesn’t even look like he’s _mocking_ Dean, mostly just seems earnest and a little bit troubled as he says it, which is just bizarre – after all, telling Cas Dean loves him would be a great way to turn a functional, healthy friendship into a stifling, awkward disaster – but Dean doesn’t really get a chance to analyze the expression.

Sam nods.

“Good luck,” he says, and then, for the second time that day, someone hangs up on Dean.

Huh. Maybe he’s not explaining it right?

Sadly, Dean doesn’t really get a chance to stew. He makes himself finish up the boring-as-shit essay, trying not to look too hard or too hopefully at Cas’s bedroom door – they can’t be _that_ distracting to each other, can they? - and then he decides to take a quick break and try to catch up on the news.

And that-

That is his first mistake.

Cas sets himself an alarm for the time he’s allowed to leave his room, lest he try and make up some excuse to quit working early and go in search of company and contact and Dean just occasionally glancing fondly at him, and the instant it starts jingling he swipes the off button and practically launches himself from the bed.

Something smells _incredible_ when he opens the door and steps out, and while he’s a little disappointed Dean didn’t wait for Cas to keep him company before he started cooking dinner, he’s excited.

He’s been looking forward to eating with Dean all day, and because this smell clearly doesn’t belong to Tuna Helper or chili or canned chicken with frozen stir fry vegetables or anything else Cas has eaten a lot of in the last couple of weeks, he’s even more excited. In fact, he heads for the kitchen with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step, because Dean, unexpected domestic goddess, the likes of which are bitterly whispered about across mommy blogs the world over, is always a sight to behold in the kitchen, humming as he bustles around in his cheesy Dad-pun apron and gracefully does things to vegetables and pans and whatever else is involved in preparing a meal and Cas, privileged as he is, gets to be the only one who sees it.

He slows as he emerges into the common area, immediately sensing something off about the atmosphere.

First of all, Dean’s not humming, isn’t even playing himself music, no classic rock providing comforting background noise to the clatter of the cutting board or the sizzle of pans. Second, Dean’s neither bustling around or wearing his apron, is instead wearing a very soft-looking hoodie with a front pocket his hands are tucked into, his shoulders bunched as he hunches in on himself by the stove and stares into the pan with unseeing eyes.

The kitchen _light_ isn’t even on, despite the fading daylight, and Cas swallows, stomach sinking.

“Dean?” he asks, coming to a stop by the breakfast bar, and Dean flinches, shooting him a startled look.

“Cas. Hey. Sorry, dinner’s almost ready.”

Cas gives the pot a vaguely fearful glance. He’s pretty sure that’s their last can of cream of chicken on the counter, the one Dean’s been saving because ‘sometimes you just need comfort food’ and Cas has a sneaking suspicion that that time has, unfortunately, arrived.

“It smells great,” he offers, then carefully circles the bar into the kitchen, slowly approaching.

Dean clears his throat, clearly trying to smile.

“How, uh, how’d the studying go?”

Cas thinks his eyes look a little red.

“Good. I got more done than I expected. What about you?”

Dean shrugs, turning back to the stove, one hand leaving the hoodie pocket to stir the thick, creamy mixture in the pan.

“Could’ve done better,” he mumbles. “Talked to Sam and Charlie, though.”

“Oh.” Cas moves a little closer, coming to a stop beside Dean, and Dean shoots him a small, strained smile. “How are they?”

“Good, good. Pretty good, you know. Same old.”

“That’s . . . good.”

Cas hesitates, then leans forward, lightly bumping Dean’s shoulder.

Dean twitches away.

Cas has no idea what to do.

They stand in silence for a few minutes, Dean periodically stirring the pan, and Cas silently steps in to mind the pot of egg noodles beside it.

Still, Dean says nothing.

“May I turn on a light?”

“Huh?” Dean blinks, glancing around. “Oh. Yeah, sure.”

Cas goes to turn it on, then quickly returns to his side, trying not to look as anxious as he feels.

“Would you like some music?”

Dean hesitates, then shakes his head.

“No, that – that’s okay.”

Cas nods.

“Did . . . did something happen?”

Dean swallows.

“No. I mean – not yet, anyway,” he mutters, and Cas wonders if it would be acceptable to reach into that hoodie pocket and take one of Dean’s hands, because there’s something tense and distant in Dean right now, a something that’s not totally unfamiliar but is both rare enough to make Cas nervous and awful enough for him to hate, and he wishes he hadn’t stayed in his room all day, after all.

“What is it?”

Dean’s mouth curls, bitter.

“They, uh. They’re starting to talk about reopening.”

“Oh.”

Dean shakes his head.

“You’d think people wouldn’t go for it, right? Fucking _weeks,_ they’ve been going on about flattening the curve, reporting on what feels like a new goddamn symptom every day, telling you how many people are dying and how sick it makes you and how much hell the first respond e rs are wading through, and just when it looks like maybe, finally, _fewer_ people are biting it – they decide hey, who gives a fuck?”

Cas winces.

“I’m sure there will be rules-”

“For _what_ ?” Dean snaps, eyes furious. “For going out to do something you don’t even _need_ to, for putting yourself and everybody else at risk so you can – so you can go to the fucking _A_ _pple_ store? So you can have an overpriced meal in a fancy restaurant? Seriously, what the hell? Everything we did, everything we’ve been trying to do, everything the people staying in gave up and the people who had to go out risked just so tons of people wouldn’t fucking _die –_ they’re suddenly calling it a wash and deciding it doesn’t _matter_?”

Cas hesitates.

“I don’t think that’s it, Dean. It – it’s hard, the way things have been-”

“Of-fucking- _course_ it’s hard, Cas! But it’s better than _dying_! But I guess they don’t give a shit, anymore, because they’d rather go to a goddamn nightclub!”

“Dean, that’s not – people need to get back to work, and even if they can do it from home . . . you and I, we – we have each other, and we get along, but for people who are alone, or who struggle to spend all their time with the ones they live with, and even for people who are coping . . . if the experts think the numbers are manageable, and they can stay that way, of _course_ people want to get back to their lives.”

“Are you kidding me? Do you not understand how flattening the curve _works_? The moment you open things back up, the numbers _stop_ being manageable and people start dying again. More of them, that is, because in case you haven’t noticed, they haven’t fucking _stopped._ ”

“Yes, Dean, I understand all of that, but if they time it right and people take precautions-”

Dean reaches out, flicking off the stove and shaking his head, jaw set.

“I can’t fucking believe you. Is _anyone_ taking this seriously? I thought the people protesting mask-wearing and lockdown were just a few crazies, but jesus christ, are you all so desperate to get out and breathe all over each other you’re willing to risk _everything_?”

Cas grits his teeth.

“ _Dean._ I get that you’re struggling, that this a shock – that this whole thing has been devastating for the entire _world_ – but you need to consider-”

“No! Because if you _got_ that, you’d agree that it’s _too fucking soon._ We’re just going to end up right back where we started. Except you _never_ took it seriously, did you? If I hadn’t been here, you wouldn’t have done a damn thing to protect yourself.” Dean takes a deep breath, looking away. “Dinner’s ready. Just throw the pasta in and melt some cheese on it. I’m going to bed.”

Cas’s shoulders slump.

“Dean, just-”

Dean hastens past him.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it, Cas.” He keeps moving toward the hallway, then calls over his shoulder, “You’ve got plenty of practice, after all.”

And then he’s stalking into his room and slamming the door shut before Cas can muster a response.

Cas puts cheese on all of it and waits, desperately hoping Dean’s going to cool off and come back out, but an hour goes by and the apartment stays silent.

He opens up his laptop to read up on things, and while he’s relieved to see a boatload of rules in talks for the reopenings, suggesting Dean likely overreacted, he can’t help a small pang of nervousness, too.

Contrary to what Dean might think, Cas is perfectly capable of worrying, and while he refuses to do so unnecessarily-

He still does, sometimes.

He switches over to schoolwork, struggling to just give Dean his space, to let him work it out for himself, but it’s hard to focus and all Cas wants to do is go knock and ask Dean to please keep pretending the outside world doesn’t exist with him so they can just eat dinner and snuggle, like they always do, and then maybe Cas can see him turn soft and bright with pleasure and they can fall asleep in each other’s arms, unconcerned for what the morning might bring.

He stays put on the sofa, working through until eight, and then he can bear the silence no longer. There might have been a time, when Cas spent hours alone, usually in his room entertaining himself or winding down, and didn’t really mind it.

But that time is long past, and tonight, so used to being with Dean, with sharing a routine of sorts practically from morning to night . . .

By the time he tentatively makes his way to Dean’s door, Cas’s empty stomach is sick and he kind of wants to cry.

He wonders if he’s going to have to sleep _alone_.

Anyway, he stands there for God knows how long, hovering in the dark hallway and staring at the shadowed white door, trying to gather the courage to knock and ask if Dean will please just come eat dinner with him, before it abruptly opens.

He blinks as lamplight floods the hall, Dean jerking in surprise as their eyes meet.

Cas’s cheeks suddenly heat, realization hitting him along with the light.

His roommate needed a little space, just a night to himself after spending over a month locked up in a tiny apartment with Cas, and Cas is so needy and pathetic he’s lurking outside the door like a fucking creep because some part of him feels entitled to said roommate’s company (and warm embrace as they fall asleep).

How did he _become_ this?

But then Dean’s expression sort of falls and Cas’s embarrassment melts away and whatever it is he sees in that look, Dean’s face in shadow, the light forming a strange, glum halo behind him-

Cas instinctively opens his arms.

And to his surprise, Dean doesn’t hesitate before stepping into them.

Cas shuts his eyes, wrapping around him before he can change his mind.

“Are you going to eat with me?”

Dean turns his head, breath suddenly warming Cas’s neck.

“Didn’t you already?”

“No. No, I – I thought you might come out.”

Dean’s hold on him tightens.

“Sorry. I didn’t know. I – I didn’t mean to be so-”

“It’s okay,” Cas says quickly. “We’ll talk about it later. But we should eat.”

Dean nods, falling silent, but he doesn’t let go. Cas takes a deep breath.

“Are you – will you come to bed?”

Dean nods again.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “If you’ll let me.”

Cas tries not to cling harder.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

Dean snorts.

“Because I lost my shit and yelled at you.”

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I know better than anyone how – how _hard_ this has been on you, and I shouldn’t have-”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, a little frantic, because he’s got Dean in his arms and he’s extracted sort-of promises to have dinner and share the bed, the way they always do, and he doesn’t want Dean to somehow end up banishing himself to the sofa instead. “You – do you remember the day I went for a run? And you – you held my hands, and you told me you were struggling, too. That there were going to be bad days like that, and some of them would be yours. And you were going to need me to tell you, too. That – that we’re in this together, and it would be okay.”

Dean says nothing for a moment, and Cas takes a deep breath.

“You were right. It will. _We_ will. It’s just a bad day, Dean, bad news, but I – I’ve got you, like you had me, and we’re going to be okay.”

Dean stays silent, still holding on, still breathing against him, and Cas does his best to hold him back and show him just how true that is.

Finally, he feels Dean swallow.

“Okay, Cas. If you say so.”

Cas nods firmly.

“I do.” He pauses. “But we’ll be better if we eat.”

Dean huffs a laugh, soft against Cas’s throat, and then steps back, rubbing his eyes.

“Point. Alright, let’s, uh. Let’s do that.”

Cas tries to hide his relief, to look calm and steady and as reassuring as Dean needs right now, and he nods.

And then he takes Dean’s hand and carefully leads him to the kitchen.

They reheat the leftovers, Dean leaning into him while they quietly listen to the microwave buzz, and then they retreat back to Cas’s room, flicking on the lamp and climbing into the bed with the laptop, where Cas feels about a thousand times safer as soon as the blanket is pulled over them.

Dean seems to be doing better, too, leg shifting to just barely press against Cas’s under the blanket, and when their bowls are empty and they’ve let a second episode reach its conclusion, Dean turns to him with a question in his eyes.

“Maybe we should get ready for bed,” Cas offers, and Dean nods, easing back the covers.

They make their way to the bathroom and complete their ablutions in silence, and once they’ve turned out the light and returned to bed, Dean turning away on his side, Cas lies in disappointed quiet for only a few minutes before he decides ‘fuck it.’

He rolls over, slotting up behind Dean and tentatively putting an arm around his waist. Dean goes still for a moment, and then he sort of relaxes back, lightly brushing a hand over Cas’s.

“You, uh. You cold?” he asks, barely audible, and Cas nods, though that’s not it and he thinks Dean knows it.

“A little.” He pauses. “My hands, especially.”

He tucks the hand over Dean’s stomach under his shirt, feeling it flinch inward before it settles.

“Yeah, I feel that.”

Cas shrugs, lightly stroking over it, because at this point, he can’t help himself, and also, it was a stressful evening full of fear and a terrible sense of helplessness and being allowed to lie here and pet Dean’s tummy is going a long, long way towards reassuring him.

Dean huffs.

“I swear to God, if you could rub it away, the pie-top would already be gone.”

Cas suppresses a sigh.

“Shut up, Dean,” he murmurs.

And then he ducks his chin, lightly pressing a kiss to Dean’s shoulder, just shy of his t-shirt’s neck.

“It really is going to be okay,” he adds, quiet, and Dean sucks in a breath. “You and me, Dean. We’re going to be okay.”

For a moment, there’s no response, nothing but Dean’s steady, even breaths in the dark.

And then Dean sniffs, abruptly shrugging off his arm, and before Cas can worry about it, he turns, curling into him, their knees knocking as Cas quickly straightens out, eager to make space.

After a moment, he feels Dean’s hand touch his face, thumb just barely brushing the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, Cas. Sounds good.”

Something in Cas eases, finally settling down, content.

He turns and lightly kisses Dean’s fingers, unable to stop himself.

“I love you,” he whispers, and he thinks he feels Dean nod, fingers still hovering against Cas’s lips, like he’s feeling out the words.

“Me, too,” he returns softly. “’Night, Cas.”

Cas wriggles a little closer, reaching for Dean’s hand and tucking it on the sheet between them alongside his own.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t pull away, and just like that, Cas falls asleep.

When he wakes, part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming, the kind of dream he might be allowed to recklessly chase to its sexy conclusion, but mostly, he has a sense of unpleasant deja vu, because he’s _been_ here before.

He swallows, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the hardness thrusting against his ass, the soft noises Dean’s making behind him.

“Dean,” he says loudly, and Dean shivers, rolling into him a little harder. Cas winces as the hand on his stomach slips down a little, the side of it just barely brushing Cas’s own reaction to all this early-morning contact. “ _Dean._ Wake up.”

Dean keeps rocking into him, breaths hot against Cas’s neck, and with deep reluctance, Cas reaches behind him for the soft, beloved flesh of the pie-top, and _pinches._

Dean jerks awake with a yelp.

“Wha? What? What’s going on?”

Cas closes his eyes, telling himself he’s relieved.

“Everything’s fine,” he starts, much more calmly than he feels. “However, you’re-”

Dean sucks in a breath, abruptly shifting away.

“Shit. Shit, sorry, I didn’t – fuck, I had no idea, I swear-”

And honestly, Cas is sleepy and hard and no matter how many blowjobs Dean gives him, no matter how skillfully he works his fingers into his hole and follows it up with a well-maneuvered toy, the reality is, none of that is the same as having Dean’s warmth pressed all along his backside, as feeling Dean’s hard length thrusting up against his cheeks, and in his current state, it’s difficult not to feel like he deserves to just have _all_ of it.

In light of that, not to mention the whole have-been-conscious-for-less-than-two-minutes thing, Cas’s grumpy, deprived-feeling brain decides it’s a great idea to just blurt out-

“Fuck my thighs.”

Dean stops trying to scramble to the other side of the bed, the mattress stilling.

“What?”

Cas shrugs, unable to bring himself to turn around and meet Dean’s eyes.

“You’re hard. I don’t feel like getting up yet. You should fuck my thighs.”

“Uh.”

“It’s not that different than if I held the fleshlight for you while you used it, is it?”

“Uh,” Dean says again. “I – I don’t – I don’t have a fleshlight.”

“Exactly,” Cas returns, as evenly as he can manage. “Which is why you should do this. You’ve used my toys on me, so – this just seems – fair.”

There’s a long, inscrutable silence behind him.

“I – I guess? I mean, I actually don’t – but - if – if you’re sure?”

Cas nods, though he doesn’t even know if Dean can see that.

“I am.”

“Okay. Okay, uh – I’ll, you know. Help you out afterward. Alright?”

Cas nods again.

“That sounds good.”

For a moment, Cas isn’t sure Dean will really do it, worries Dean is thinking about the logic here, despite his abrupt awakening, and is finding enough fault in it that neither one of them is going to get an orgasm after all.

But then there’s a rustling sound, and Cas hears the cap of the lube bottle click open, and Dean clears his throat.

“Is it okay if I just-”

“Yes,” Cas interrupts, not necessarily caring how that sentence ends. “However you want to do it, Dean.”

“Oh. Okay.”

As it turns out, Dean wants to do it by gently and painstakingly coating Cas’s inner thighs like he’s trying to smoothly frost a still-warm cake, and Cas is just about to snap at him when Dean takes a deep breath and slowly settles in behind him, warm as he presses up along Cas’s back and finally slips in between Cas’s legs, at which point Cas decides to generously just wait and see.

And honestly, by the time Dean’s let out a frustrated grunt and rolled him onto his stomach, heavy on his back as he eagerly thrusts between Cas’s lube-slick thighs, ‘gentle and painstaking’ a distant memory, Cas isn’t sure he’s going to _need_ any help, after all. Dean’s movements are so enthusiastic, despite his nervous, halting start, that the bed is bouncing, metal frame creaking and groaning with every hard shove forward, and Cas is getting plenty of friction against the sheet and then some.

Which is certainly great and all, but still, it’s not the friction he really wants.

The thing is, Cas has never been particularly interested in trying double penetration. As much as he loves his toys, is possibly more excited by the sight of them than he has been by most naked forms he’s encountered in his life (and he suspects it would have to be a toy, because even if Cas found two willing men he was attracted to at once for the task, there’s still a lot of potential for awkwardness should things turn out less wildly sexy than one might hope), he’s just never seen the point. He _does_ love his toys, and he’s gotten incredibly good at coaxing orgasms out of himself through various forms of masturbation, and really, that seems like an awful lot of effort for what may be minimal payoff.

But right now? He’s wondering if he should tell Dean he _is_ interested in that. He’s wondering if he should go read reviews and order a toy off the internet and then very nicely ask Dean to help him out with said toy, because it wouldn’t really be _Dean_ fucking him – at least, it wouldn’t be to Dean – so much as Dean just using another one of Cas’s toys on him, absolutely no different than the pink-and-white cat or any of the others, in which case _maybe_ -

Cas’s depraved machinations abruptly crumble into nothing when he feels Dean’s cock bump slickly against his rim, feels himself clench slightly in anticipation, and an unattractive shout escapes his mouth as he bucks backward, despite having been trying to keep himself still up to now.

Dean, fortunately, just groans in response, arm shifting across Cas’s shoulder blades and pinning him as his thrusts pick up speed, and if Cas follows the pressure of Dean’s arm and pushes his chest into the sheet and lifts his hips _just so,_ Dean’s cock thrusts in higher up, dragging against him on every other pass over, and fuck it, Cas is so hard it hurts and if Dean has a problem with him desperately rocking back and forth, trying to push against the sheet and shove back at all the right moments, he can fucking _say_ so.

He doesn’t. No, Dean just leans harder into him, just snaps his hips forward a little faster, just rests his forehead against the back of Cas’s neck and pants and groans and fucks Cas’s thighs until he starts jerking and shuddering and all of the sudden, he lifts away. Cas feels him slip out from between his legs and then there’s a slick shucking sound and oh, _God,_ Dean’s coming on him again, and how can something so theoretically gross be so fucking hot-

Dean grunts one last time, mattress quivering underneath them, and Cas barely has a moment to process the wetness at the base of his spine before he’s suddenly being rolled onto his back, Dean panting and wild-eyed above him, his cheeks flushed and eyes blown as he stares down at Cas.

Cas blinks back at him, too startled to even grimace over the sensation of the sheet sticking to his back – he supposes it’s a good thing he forgot to wash them after the post-pilates blowjob – but then Dean’s spreading his legs and pushing them up and ducking his head, and a split second later, Cas is crying out as Dean swallows him down and two wet fingers slide easily past his rim, fucking in deep while Dean’s other hand holds Cas’s thigh open, clutching hard enough to leave bruises, and Cas is so surprised at the manhandling and the wet heat around his cock and the fingers in his aching hole-

Dean pulls off to take a breath just in time for Cas to come all over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **
> 
>  **Implied/referenced past homophobia/reinforcement of gender stereotypes:** Dean shares a memory of helping his mother paint her nails on her right hand, and the fight his parents had over whether it was okay for him to paint his. John expressed concerns that Dean would be bullied, or become confused about his identity, and they determined that he could help Mary but not paint his own. Dean goes on to note that there was another terrible fight when he asked for ballet lessons, which he did get, and which he was bullied over, before the studio closed shortly after. He points out that John’s views changed, over the years, but it’s still clear that Dean is a little uncomfortable with these things and is unwilling to totally condemn his father’s handling of the situation.


	14. the kiss and make things up incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: lying, manipulation, potentially dubious consent (details in the notes if you’re concerned), referenced past Cas/Balthazar, disregard for the neighbors, blowjobs, fingering, sex toys, bottom!Cas, mentions of partner criticism and sexual insecurities, please let me know if I forgot anything.
> 
> Note: with regards to the discussions of sex drive in here, the reassurance provided is not meant to be any kind of commentary on what’s normal; relatively low or high sex drives are ‘normal,’ as is not having one at all, of course, and it’s never my intent to reinforce damaging societal expectations.
> 
> Your author is an absolute flake, and I sincerely apologize for the length of time on this delay. There’s been a lot going on, and it’s been a struggle to get time to write, but! These dumbasses still have a few more absurd situations to put themselves in, and I’ll do my best to have them for you in a timely fashion ♡ Thank you so much for your patience - and for your delightful and hilarious feedback! :D Please enjoy.

Dean’s not sure how long they both lie there, staring at each other in shocked silence, before Cas suddenly sucks in a breath.

“I – I’m _so_ sorry, Dean, it was an accident, I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no,” Dean protests, still a little hoarse. “It was my fault, I should have asked before I did all that-”

“ _N_ _o_ , it was – it was really good, Dean, it was so good, I just wasn’t expecting it and I-” Cas cuts off, swallowing, eyes wide. “I’m so, so sorry.”

And the way he looks, blue eyes panicked and cheeks crimson and expression undeniably horrified-

Dean laughs, carefully minding one eye since he’s pretty sure that’s come he feels on his lashes, and gives Cas’s thigh a squeeze before he lowers it.

“Cas, you’re acting like you just dumped a can of pink paint on my baby. Trust me, it’s no big deal.”

Cas gives him an incredulous look.

“Yes, it is-”

“Dude. Don’t worry. I promise we’re still friends,” he adds, teasing, and Cas’s shoulders tense.

“I wouldn’t blame you if we weren’t.”

“What? C’mon. We’re _always_ gonna be friends, no matter what.” Dean rolls to the side, wrinkling his nose. “But some help with clean up would be nice.”

Cas hastily rises up on his elbows, turning.

“Of course,” he says.

And then Dean’s amusement takes a swan dive right off a fucking cliff, because all of a sudden, Cas leans in over him and starts _licking Dean’s face._

Dean freezes at the first swipe of wet tongue against his cheek, Cas’s mouth hot where it touches his skin, and Cas goes still as well.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just, uh. I guess I figured this’d be one of the times you’d wanna use a wipe.”

“Oh.” Cas hesitates, breath warm over Dean’s cheek. “That’s fair, but – they’re not made for faces. I don’t want you to . . . break out.”

Which – Dean wonders if human saliva is that much less bad for his pores than a wipe treated with a non-toxic cleaning solution, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not one as lean and broad and insanely sexy as Cas is. Hell, Cas is like the rainbow Pegasus of gift horses, and Dean won’t be doing _anything_ to his mouth, lest he jeopardize what he’s already getting.

“Yeah, that – that makes sense. Thanks man, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas murmurs, and then his tongue is sweeping across the bridge of Dean’s nose and nope, Dean’s not worried about it.

So he stays still and doesn’t complain, and when Cas gets to the lower part of his face, leaving tiny licks against his chin before pulling back slightly, brow furrowing, Dean quickly runs his tongue over his own lips,

“Just . . . don’t wanna make things awkward,” he explains, because if things get awkward, Cas won’t lick the other half of his face, and if you’d _asked_ him, Dean would have said that no, actually, he doesn’t have that kink, but you know what?

Somehow, he’s not surprised.

Anyway, Cas stares at his mouth for so long Dean wonders if _he’s_ the gift horse.

(Though he wouldn’t be a rainbow Pegasus. More like a . . . sexy black stallion, with a glossy Fabio mane and flaming, tricked-out reins.)

(Unless – _do_ you trick out reins? Except wait a minute, he’d be an untameable, _wild_ gift horse, so there wouldn’t be reins, period.)

(Well, unless Cas wanted to ride him, in which case Dean’d open his mouth for the bit with a ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ no questions asked.)

(Where is he, again?)

“Yeah. That would be awkward,” Cas mumbles, looking away. “Trust me, you, um. You . . . don’t want your mouth anywhere near mine.”

“Huh?” Dean frowns. In what universe would Dean not want his mouth near Cas’s? Does Cas have halitosis or something? They cuddle all the fucking time, and the only thing Dean ever notices is post-dinner breath, which Dean obviously always shares, but even so – that’s fine. Dean’ll just get him some fluoride-treated toothpaste and maybe suggest they do their nightly flossing together, just to help Cas remember, and they’ll get it taken care of. Bad breath shouldn’t be something Cas has to feel self-conscious about.

Cas clears his throat, staring intently at the pillow beside them.

“I’m a, uh, a really . . . _really_ terrible kisser.”

It takes him a second to process that, and when he does-

“ _What_?” Dean scowls. “No fucking way.”

He’s felt Cas’s mouth on his neck, on his shoulders, felt Cas’s tongue licking come off a surprising percentage of his body’s surface area – has felt _both_ on his cock, warm and wet and absolutely perfect as they work him over – and he doesn’t buy for an instant that Cas is _bad_ at kissing.

“It’s true,” Cas says immediately, though he still isn’t looking at Dean, does in fact look – vaguely _ashamed._ “I don’t – I actually don’t have _that_ much experience. And it’s just – it’s not intuitive for me, the way it is for some.”

Like _hell._

“Dude. It’s probably all in your head, trust me.” Dean reaches up, lightly stroking along his bicep, just to be comforting. “I bet you’re great.”

Cas shrugs, clearing his throat.

“I’m not. Even . . . uh. Even . . . Bal, said so.”

Dean immediately bristles, hand freezing over Cas’s arm, because what the _fuck_? Dean’s _never_ liked Cas’s showy, douchebag ex or his dumb, totally unattractive accent, but the guy got a chance to kiss Cas and he seriously had the nerve to tell him he was _bad_ at it?

What a fucking _asshole_! As soon as quarantine’s over, Dean’s paying the guy a visit and getting an opinion on the kissing capability of his _fist._

“It’s fine,” Cas says quickly. “I – asked him to be honest.”

“Uh, so?” Dean retorts, indignant. “Wanna know a really important part of kissing well? Being _confident._ God, what a dick! He was probably lying, but if he wasn’t and you still didn’t have the hang of it when you guys broke up, it means _he’s_ even shittier, for the record.”

“He was a very good kisser,” Cas says hastily, and honestly, Dean doesn’t buy it, is pretty sure Cas just wouldn’t know any better, by the sounds of it, but then Cas finally looks at him, adding, “As it turns out . . . practice does _not_ make perfect.”

Now, that’s _definitely_ bullshit.

“Probably because you were practicing with someone who told you you weren’t _good_ at it.”

“Well, there wasn’t anyone else to practice with,” Cas counters dryly, then pauses, glancing down again. “And . . . there certainly isn’t now.”

Dean frowns.

And then it hits him.

 _Dean_ could help him practice. Dean’s right here, Cas is comfortable enough to let Dean help get him off, and Dean would never, ever tell Cas he was bad at something – especially not this.

 _Clearly_ , it’s the perfect solution.

That is, except for one giant, glaring problem.

The thing is, while Dean’s hardly going to be winning any prizes for intellect any time soon, he’s not a complete idiot, and if he stops thinking with his dick for a moment – or worse, his heart – he can step back and think about adding kissing to everything else they’re doing and see how _maybe,_ that’s crossing a line.

Helping each other get off, even though Cas isn’t attracted to him – that’s different. Dean jerks himself off, would absolutely have a blowjob-giving sex toy if they made one that delivered an authentic mouth-experience, and he’s neither attracted to himself _or_ to well-designed material objects. The same goes for Cas; tools to fuck yourself, to _touch_ yourself – they’re just tools.

Kissing, though?

Dean wouldn’t kiss himself, even if he could, and Cas probably wouldn’t either. Dean wouldn’t kiss _most_ people. Kissing, as in actual making out, is something that Dean, at least, only enjoys if there’s some kind of attraction there.

And as it is, he’s trying not to think about what happens when this all ends. If he starts kissing Cas . . . he’s not sure he won’t get – _confused._

But on the other hand, if he lets a little of the heart-thought back in . . . Cas is twenty-two. He’s only ever been with two people, as far as Dean knows, and even though Dean used to think Cas was just discreet, there’s been no trace of any kind of partner or lover or tentative fuckbuddy since he and Dean met and Dean’s pretty sure there haven’t _been_ any.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.

“He really told you you were bad at it?” Dean asks softly, and Cas averts his eyes.

“Yes. Yes, he . . . he really did. Say that. To me.”

And that, the way Cas can’t even meet Dean’s eyes as he says it, words coming out awkward and short, shame seeming to radiate from his very being-

Fuck Dean’s feelings or his fears or the future spectre of a broken heart. He’s already in this, would be whether he’d ever started helping Cas get off or not, and kissing him? It’s not gonna change the fact that when all is said and done, it’s gonna hurt.

 _Not_ doing it, though – that might make the difference between Cas being too insecure to let somebody give him the love he deserves and Cas being _happy_. If Dean doesn’t help him, Balthazar’s asshole negging could be hanging over his head for many more years to come.

Cas doesn’t deserve to go through life unloved just because he somehow thinks he’s not good enough.

And since Dean can’t tell him that it doesn’t matter if he drools _buckets_ into somebody’s mouth every time they kiss for longer than three seconds, because Cas would still be well worth dating . . .

He takes a deep breath, and says:

“Well, you can always practice with me?”

Cas’s whole body seems to twitch as the words hit him, and he blinks at the pillow, gaze briefly flicking to Dean’ before moving away again.

“Oh.” He nods slowly. “I . . . I hadn’t thought of that.”

Which is fair; _now_ it seems obvious, given how close and comfortable they are, but even Dean needed a minute to figure out, and Cas – well, Cas doesn’t like to be a burden.

Dean squeezes his arm.

“It’s up to you, man, but – think of it this way. I’m not a partner, right? You definitely don’t have to worry I’m gonna stop being attracted to you if you’re bad at it.”

Cas blinks, and actually, maybe Dean should have worded that differently.

Oh, well.

“That’s true.” Cas studies the seam of the pillow, considering, and Dean tries not to hold his breath. “Well . . . it couldn’t hurt to try?”

Relief washes over him, even though he’s not the one who’s supposed to be nervous.

“Yeah. Yeah, we might as well. Obviously, if it, uh. If it doesn’t seem like it’d be helpful, we can forget about it, but . . . like you said. Can’t hurt to try.”

Cas nods, finally meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Right. Definitely.”

They’re both silent for a moment, and then Dean lifts his brows.

“Okay, then. Come on. Show me what you got.”

Cas freezes, then sort of leans back in, and Dean’s heart turns over in his chest, stumbling as its pace quickens, Cas’s eyes flicking down to his mouth and oh, _shit,_ this is it, Cas is seriously gonna close the distance and _kiss_ him-

But then Cas hesitates.

His eyes move back to Dean’s, suddenly nervous, and as keyed up and excited as Dean is about the practice-kissing, he forces himself to settle down a little, because he gets that.

He’d be nervous, too, if his ex had straight-up told him he was bad at kissing.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, reaching up to touch Cas’s cheek. “Don’t worry, just practice. I’ll kiss you as long or as many times as you want me to, no matter how you do.”

Cas’s eyes widen a fraction, and he opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

In the ensuing silence, Dean thinks of the worst things someone could do to him, and then quietly hopes Balthazar has a car he really, really loves, because Dean knows _exactly_ what he’s gonna be doing the minute it’s safe to go out again.

He shifts his hand, thumb lightly brushing over Cas’s lower lip.

“We’ll start slow,” he promises. “Let you get the hang of it. You’re gonna do fine.”

Cas briefly shuts his eyes, then takes a deep, unsteady breath.

“Okay,” he mumbles, opening them again, brow dipping slightly. “I haven’t – it’s been a couple years. My kissing skills are rusty.”

Dean shakes his head.

“That’s okay.” He strokes over Cas’s lip, soft and pink beneath the pad of his thumb. “It’s just me. And I’ll kiss you, hematite saliva or not.”

Cas is silent for a moment, something strange in his eyes, and Dean smiles at him.

“What’s up, Cas?”

Cas swallows.

“I . . . I just . . . Dean, maybe you should . . .” he trails off, uncertain, and Dean studies him for a moment.

“You want me to start?” he finally offers, because sometimes it’s nice for somebody else to take the lead, just while you’re figuring stuff out, and Cas stills.

He looks at Dean for a long, long moment, and then, just barely, he nods.

“Please,” he whispers, a heartbreaking sort of doubt in his eyes, and yeah, Dean’s got this.

He gently pushes back on Cas’s shoulder, rolling him over, and plants his elbows on either side of him.

“This okay?” he asks, and again, Cas nods, already looking at his mouth.

Because Dean’s about to _kiss_ him. After all this time, after all the furtive looks and the fantasies and the iron self-control of the last month, Dean’s finally, _finally_ going to get to kiss him.

Dean takes a deep breath.

And then he ducks his head and does it.

Balthazar is never, ever going to forgive him, and because Cas is a bad friend, the kind of friend who misattributes wrongdoings and tells manipulative lies and commits all manner of other dastardly, self-serving friendship misdemeanors, Cas doesn’t even _care._

Because Dean’s mouth is _on_ him, except it’s not on his cock, tongue doing clever, maddening things until he’s a squirming, unsightly mess beneath him; it’s not on his stomach or his back, painstakingly lapping up his own come after he’s roughly jerked himself and painted Cas’s skin with his release while Cas is still lying in his own orgasmic stupor; it’s not on his flushed chest, licking and biting at his pebbled, aching nipples until Cas is moaning and arching up like a cat in heat.

No, Dean’s mouth is on _Cas’s_ mouth, soft, full lips pressed to his in the most telling, intimate way Cas has ever dreamed about, and it’s so unspeakably good Cas can do nothing but lie perfectly still for a moment and drink in the sensation.

Dean misunderstands, pausing in his soft, breathtakingly sweet kiss, and pulls away just slightly, elbow shifting as he reaches to brush back Cas’s hair.

“’S’okay,” he whispers. “Don’t think about it. Just feel, Cas.”

And then he presses back in, tongue just barely flicking out against the seam of Cas’s lips, and good _God,_ Cas is feeling it. Cas is feeling it so badly he’s not sure his heart isn’t going to explode right out of his fucking chest. Dean rolled him onto his stomach and pinned him to the bed and fucked his thighs and then he rolled him right back over and made him come as hard as he ever has in his life, and now he’s gently laying him back and kissing him softly and whispering encouragement and reassurance and Cas is having dizzying glimpses of a life chock-full of getting fucked hard and made love to and being tenderly cherished and generally _adored,_ because god, that’s how Dean makes him feel, and he thinks his physical desire and his emotional desire may be having some sort of dangerous, escalating competition within him which will ultimately overtax his fragile human body and lead to his premature death.

Dean strokes over his hair, gentle but insistent as he moves his mouth against Cas’s, trying to coax his lips apart, and at last, Cas’s instincts stop staggering drunkenly through the confusing chemistry inside his brain and get it together enough to propel him toward the best-case-scenario.

He slips his arms around Dean, slides his fingers into his hair, and unabashedly starts kissing back.

Dean falters for a moment, a startled sound vibrating against Cas’s lips, but then he’s tilting his head and deepening the kiss and Cas opens his mouth in offering and welcome both and then Dean’s tongue licks inside and actually, Cas is _perfectly_ happy to die like this, mortally stricken by the thorough attentions of the most perfect, wonderful mouth ever created and the perfect, wonderful boy it’s attached to.

Cas wonders if he’s allowed to yank Dean closer, take the whole, delicious weight of him and wrap his legs around Dean like he’s a watermelon in need of crushing so he has no choice but to stay in bed making out with Cas all day.

Except _then_ he remembers he’s supposed to be unskilled and lacking in confidence, and he just barely stops himself from expertly teasing soft palate with the tip of his tongue before Dean can figure out he’s an appalling liar.

With deep reluctance, he tries to remember how his first few kisses went, and decides to alternate the kind of kiss he wants to just lose himself in with some awkward head angles and tongue clumsily butting up against Dean’s when it tries to stroke inside.

Dean makes a confused noise, hand reaching to hold his head still, and pulls back slightly.

“Hey, just – uh. You don’t wanna move around too much. Like – how you were doing a second ago was great, but – I think – seemed like maybe you started thinking about what you were doing?”

“A little,” Cas says, hoping he looks sufficiently self-conscious. “May I – may I try again?”

Dean laughs, green eyes warm as his palm slips down to Cas’s cheek.

“Of course, man. Just – remember, _feel_. Don’t overthink it, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Cas agrees uncertainly, although really, it’s vital that he overthink it, because if he goes strictly based on instinct and feeling, Dean is going to pronounce his education complete and _then_ where will Cas be?

Without kisses, that’s where, and given the absolute not-surprise it is that Dean is spectacular at kissing, as he is at all things, that is not the sort of life Cas intends to lead.

Dean winces, cupping his cheek.

“Don’t think about that, either. You’re okay. If you need to overthink it for a little while, while you get comfortable – that’s okay, too. Anybody worth kissing is willing to be patient, alright?”

Cas nods, though he himself is not feeling very patient, lips tingling and eager for Dean’s to be back on them.

“Alright.”

Dean reangles his head slightly, fingers brushing back into his hair, and then-

 _God, yes,_ Cas thinks, melting right into it.

Unfortunately, Dean _is_ spectacular at kissing, and despite his commitment to overthinking, Cas’s brain melts right along with the rest of him, and he only manages to remember himself enough to be Bad At Kissing about thirty-percent of the time, if that, because being Bad At Kissing means interrupting the transcendent, wet slide of lips and tongue and Dean’s lashes tickling his cheek because they’re _this close,_ and really, being Bad At Kissing is turning out to be an unpleasant conflict of interest.

Anyway, he does his best to be occasionally awful, and when he reluctantly props up to achieve an angle that causes a maximum of clacking teeth and nose-bumping while he lets the saliva pool on one side of his mouth, Dean makes a disgruntled sound and pushes him back down, fingers tangled in his hair to hold his head to the pillow.

“Hey,” he pants, frowning slightly. “Try not to come at me head on, okay?”

“Oh. Sorry,” Cas says, hoping the way he’s staring at Dean’s mouth screams ‘embarrassed consternation’ and not ‘please meld with me, body and soul, as we helplessly succumb to the ardent heat of the all-consuming passion between us.’

Dean’s mouth softens.

“No, don’t – that’s not criticism,” he says quickly, the hand in Cas’s hair gentling, not that Cas has a preference either way. “You’re doing great. Better than great, a lot of the time. There’s just – you’ve got moments where I think you panic? And that’s okay, but if you’re gonna think about it anyway, I just wanna help you understand the difference.”

“Okay,” Cas agrees breathlessly. “Um. Try again?”

Dean nods, and then he’s shifting closer and lowering himself, hand carefully pushing Cas’s head into a tilt.

“Like this,” he whispers. “If you start overthinking, remember to just – go the opposite direction, okay? Like two pieces of a puzzle. We wanna fit.”

Cas swallows, and before he can try to muster some nonchalant noise of assent, Dean’s pressing in close and putting his mouth back on Cas’s, settling chest to chest and setting off a rush of heat through every square centimeter of Cas’s body, and maybe since Dean _just_ gave him a specific lesson, it would be okay to be good at kissing for longer this time? As long as Cas drools on him or accidentally gets his tongue too close to a nostril toward the end, Dean will keep letting him practice, surely?

Cas decides to risk it, clinging tightly to Dean’s shoulders and eagerly working his tongue past Dean’s lips, and by that point, all thought and rationale falls away.

“Mm – yeah, like that, you’re doing so good, Cas,” Dean breaks away to mumble, and even though context is important and Dean’s just trying to reassure him, Cas experiences a smug little thrill, one that prompts him to twist into Dean a little, hooking a thigh over the glorious, bare swell of his ass, and Dean makes a strangled sound Cas wants to believe is surprised pleasure but is pretty sure is just surprise because _Cas-_

Cas immediately moves his leg back off, pulling away.

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t realize I-”

But Dean’s grip on his head tightens, weight surging forward to hold him in place.

“No, no, you’re fine, man. Me, too,” he adds, and when Cas just stares blankly, Dean shifts over even more, and suddenly his cock is pressing up against Cas’s thigh, hard and wet, and Cas’s brain just sort of flatlines. Dean offers him a small smile. “Bein’ twenty-two, right? Some mornings are just rough.”

 _What the fuck,_ Cas thinks, staring up at him, breaths still short and fast from the kissing and the arousal and Dean’s naked body all over his.

“Right,” he says, and Dean’s body relaxes on top of him, something almost like relief flashing across his face.

“But, uh, this – this is kinda good, actually. ‘Cause . . . ‘cause multitasking this sorta thing is tough, you know?”

Cas nods. In fact, he has absolutely no idea what Dean is talking about, but he’s hard and Dean is hard and Dean is making no move to get off of him, and Cas has a strong hunch that if he just stays put and goes along with it, more orgasms might happen.

“It is,” he agrees, hoping his hunch is correct.

“Right, so – this is a great opportunity.” Dean licks his lips. “We can, uh, practice kissing while we masturbate.”

Again, Cas nods, willing to be patient for his orgasm.

But then Dean’s words sink in, and he freezes.

“Sorry?” Maybe he’s still asleep, somehow, and this entire morning has just been a very pleasant wish-fulfillment dream.

“Just – even if you get really good at making out, I don’t want you to be worrying about the sexy stuff and get caught up in your head or something. One of the reasons it’s so important to be confident is so you can just let go and – and enjoy yourself. So . . . it doesn’t do you any good if you just practice making out without doing anything else, right?”

Cas blinks.

“Right,” he says faintly, and Dean smiles uncertainly, fingers carding through his hair a little.

“Yeah. So . . . let’s try that, okay?”

“Okay,” Cas says, and Dean looks back at him for a moment longer and then sort of nods to himself and leans down and Cas’s pulse jumps except then Dean’s kissing him again and even though he’s sure he can’t _possibly_ be understanding right, Cas decides he doesn’t care.

“Mm – touch yourself, Cas,” Dean murmurs, mouth all soft heat over Cas’s. Cas reaches for himself without thinking, groaning as he wraps his hand around his cock, and Dean makes a soft noise against his mouth in answer. “Yeah – yeah, Cas, good, just – just feel.”

Cas _feels_ , licking between Dean’s lips and eagerly palming his own cock, and Dean just tilts his head and kisses him harder, tongue tangling with Cas’s in a way that’s hot and dirty and maybe even a little bit sweet, and when he finally remembers to at least _try_ and seem less skilled than he is, Dean makes a dismayed sound, pulling away.

“Hey – let me – I know normally it’d be kinda weird, but I really want you to be able to focus on the kissing for now, so can I – is it okay if I just take care of both of us?”

“Take care of both of us?” Cas echoes, still a little dazed from the kissing and whatever it was Dean’s tongue was just doing.

“Yeah.” Dean shifts to one elbow, lifting one hand and making a circle with his fist. “Nothing, uh, major, just – like you’d do for yourself. But – you know, both of us.”

Cas swallows. _Wouldn’t that defeat the multitasking purpose?_ he almost asks, but Dean’s fist is a tidy, circular beacon of sexual potential, one Cas really, really wants to slide his cock in and out of, and he promptly dismisses the logic.

“Oh. Um. Sure. That . . . that sounds fine.”

Dean quickly nods.

“Okay. Uh. Awesome. I’m just gonna . . .” he trails off, and Cas nods dumbly, and then Dean’s fumbling for the lube, drizzling it on his hand before settling back over Cas, and one strong thigh slots between his as Dean carefully lines himself up and then-

Cas sucks in a breath, hips jerking up, and Dean’s length slips against his own before Dean wraps a hand around them both and if Cas hadn’t already come this morning, he thinks that would do it.

“Oh – fuck – _Dean_ -”

Dean’s biting his lip, watching Cas with wide eyes as he slowly slides his hand up, grim firm, cock silky and wet where it fits snug against Cas’s own, and that red, swollen lip is all that saves Cas from looking down, looking to see where they’re pressed together, to verify that yes, that’s Dean’s hand on him, and yes, that’s Dean’s dick, thick and hard alongside his own, and before Cas can try to articulate the overwhelming combination of shock and want and pure, divine bliss, Dean’s hand glides back down and Dean lowers his head and then Cas is getting kissed and jerked off and-

And then it hits him.

This – this is _sex_. This is definitely, 100% sex. Dean is going to kiss him while he makes them both come, not just from the attention of his hand, but from the stimulation of his own cock rubbing against Cas’s, and also he’s going to _kiss_ him, and – and that’s _sex_. That _has_ to be sex. What else could that _be?_ Even if there’s no _feeling_ behind it, you don’t kiss someone while working them to orgasm without it being sex of some form. Right? _Right_? Cas could ask his brother, just to be sure, but every instinct in his body, every (admittedly rare) shred of reason in his brain, tells him he doesn’t need to.

He knows, in his bones, that he and Dean are having sex right now, whether Dean thinks of it that way or not.

Was . . . was Gabe _right?_ Have they been having sex this whole time?

“Nh – Cas – mm-”

Those same instincts, that same reason and bone-deep feeling, scream back a resounding _yes._

Which – should Cas _tell_ Dean? It seems appropriate, but – but – what if it makes him stop kissing Cas? Even if _physically_ , he wants to have sex with Cas, for him to not have also realized what’s happening – especially as the significantly more experienced party – suggests he’s not psychologically comfortable with it yet; in which case, he might _never_ be. But what if that raises issues of consent? Are you _allowed_ to have sex with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with you but still started rubbing both your dicks together while he jerked them under the assumption that it _wasn’t_ sex, when all you were originally trying to do was fake-practice kissing?

And why _isn’t_ Dean comfortable with the idea of them having sex? He’s always talking about trying not to make things weird; is it just because Cas is his friend and he doesn’t want to cross that line? But if that’s the case, wouldn’t the discomfort lie in the _act,_ not the label?

Honestly, as he lies there, clinging to Dean for dear life as their mouths slide together and Dean’s hand frantically jerks them both, instinct helpfully taking over and driving Cas’s hips into a wild, demanding rhythm as his brain struggles to derive a solution, a part of Cas wishes Dean were in the closet, because then a whole host of explanations open up.

In fact, even if it took some doing, Cas could pretend Dean was actually _incredibly_ in love with him and amenable to a commitment to share the majority of their future orgasms for so long as they both shall be able to get erect – but since Dean’s _not_ in the closet, is perfectly comfortable dating men and kissing men and everything else you can think of doing with men, if he doesn’t want to acknowledge that he’s having sex with Cas . . .

Intellectually – perhaps even emotionally – the concept repulses him.

“Hey – hey, is it okay – can I try something?”

“Mhm,” Cas agrees distractedly, chasing after his mouth, although this latest conclusion is dampening his pleasure somewhat.

It’s just – it’s depressing. It makes Cas feel – honestly, it makes him feel shitty, but then he thinks about the fact that he set this trap for a reason, thinks about the way Dean is so attentive, is always so careful to ask him if he feels good and if Dean is doing things the way he likes, and he remembers that Dean may genuinely not be attracted to him.

Dean just cares about him _that_ much, enough that it doesn’t even occur to him not to give Cas the things he wants.

Cas can live with that, can’t he?

And if he tells Dean that giving Cas the things he wants has led to them having sex with one another . . .

Dean may decide that that’s crossing a line, and he might ask to stop.

Can Cas live with _that?_

Dean groans, mouth slipping away from Cas’s and moving to his neck as he pushes Cas’s thigh higher up – which, when did Cas wrap his legs around him? – and then he’s pressing down against Cas, chest to chest, cocks trapped beneath their stomachs as Dean meets him thrust-for-thrust, and _then_ he’s sucking at Cas’s throat and pushing his fingers back inside his hole and oh, _fuck,_ Cas should have been paying more attention. He spasms underneath Dean, going tight as Dean moans again and nibbles at his neck, grinding forward, and you know what?

It is 2020, and absolutely no one’s business. If Dean wants to thrust against him and push his fingers inside Cas’s hole like they’re about to get frostbite and Cas’s ass is a mitten full of hand warmers, then who the hell cares what you call it?

Not Cas, certainly.

“Ohhh, God – yes, _yes –_ more, Dean-”

Dean’s hips keep snapping forward, a third finger snaking in alongside the others as he mercilessly thrusts inside, and then his mouth moves back to Cas’s and with that, Cas conclusively decides that sex, like time, is relative, and arguing about that relativity is an absolutely pointless exercise when it comes to the contentment and fulfillment of your average layperson in their everyday life.

“Mmph – Cas – doin’ so good, feel so good, buddy, you’re doin’ great, you’re _perfect-_ ” Dean murmurs, heavy as he thrusts against Cas and curls his fingers, and Cas just clumsily nods and kisses him some more; and he should feel bad, should feel far too guilty and ashamed to have an orgasm, but when Dean wriggles in that last finger and quickens his pace, sweat-slick skin sticking together as Cas’s thighs squeeze his sides and Dean ruts against him, he decides that morals are for unimaginitive masochists.

He comes between them with a muffled cry against Dean’s lips, and when Dean tenses up, grinding down against Cas even harder, preventing him from writhing around too much as he twists his fingers, Cas just sort of lies back, twitching in ecstasy, stars behind his eyelids as Dean effectively keeps tongue-fucking him through the finish.

(Cas wonders, in some distant, shuttered corner of his brain, if he should suggest he practice his kissing while getting well-and-truly fucked, just to be sure he won’t lose focus.)

But then Dean breaks away with a moan and buries his face in Cas’s neck, and Cas quickly shifts his hold to Dean’s back, legs squeezing in encouragement as Dean gasps and shudders against him, spilling hot and wet over Cas’s softening cock and navel, and once they’ve lain there, filthy and trembling in post-orgasm stupor, Dean lifts his head.

He looks dazed and rumpled, a flush beneath his freckles and his hair sticking out every which way, and for a moment, he just stares at Cas.

Cas stares back.

And then he clears his throat.

“I . . . I’m particularly uncoordinated after an orgasm,” he manages, wincing at the roughness in his voice. “Would you mind if we practiced a little more?”

Dean swallows.

“Uh. No. No, that – that’d probably be, uh, smart.” One of Dean’s shoulders twitches up. “I’m . . . here to help.”

“Oh, good.” Cas nods. “Thank you.”

“Sure, buddy. of course.”

They continue looking at each other for a moment, breaths still labored between them.

And then Cas gently tugs him down for a kiss.

_< < Bal, if you happen to hear a rumor that I said you told me I was bad at kissing, please disregard it._

_> > ?????? :C cassie why???_

_> > you know I thought you were a fantastic kisser. Literally my only complaint was that you didn’t want to to do it more often_

Cas hesitates.

_< < It’s a long story, but it was for a good cause._

(Well, if lying to and manipulating your kindhearted best friend is a ‘good cause,’ but Cas is trying not to think too hard about that.)

_< < Though I appreciate that, thank you. You, too, are a fantastic kisser, among other things._

_> > ;))) Oh, very well. You’re forgiven._

_> > But if I hear you’ve been telling people *I* was inadequate at kissing – or anything else! – we’re going to have to have a talk!!!_

Cas snorts, shoots back a thumbs up, and puts his phone away with a sigh.

As it is, someone should probably have a talk with him, but since it’s quarantine and they can’t and he’s sure as hell not going to solicit such a talking-to by admitting what he’s done to any of his other friends . . .

Well, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Of course, it lasts far less time than he anticipated, because barely more than forty-five minutes later, his phone rings.

Guilt flashes through him as soon as he glances toward the screen, and he quickly answers.

“Hello?”

“Cas! Hey, it’s nice to hear your voice.”

Cas nods instinctively, though Charlie can’t see him.

“Yours, as well. Sorry I haven’t been keeping in touch. Studying through lockdown is difficult.”

(Unless by ‘studying,’ you mean participating in increasingly inventive ploys to get your best friend and roommate to mimic a sexually and emotionally attentive boyfriend to you, in which case, it actually hasn’t been as difficult as one might think.)

(Dean should be careful in the future, he decides. Someday, someone is going to take terrible, terrible advantage of him.)

“Studying,” she echoes, and Cas frowns.

She couldn’t possibly know, could she?

Unless – has _Dean_ told her something?

Could Dean be less oblivious than Cas thinks?

He clutches the phone, pulse quickening.

“Yes,” he agrees cautiously. “What else would I be doing? We’re all in lockdown, after all.”

There’s a long silence.

He waits, patient.

“Right,” she says, so unimpressed Cas is suddenly _positive_ she knows something.

But _what_?

“What about you? How is the studying going?”

“Pretty good. Like, you know I’d always do this kind of stuff online if I could. No get-togethers for game night _sucks,_ though.” She hums. “How’s Dean holding up?”

Cas hesitates.

“There are good days and bad days,” he eventually answers, and she hums.

“Yeah, I figured. Listen, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“I know he’s probably having a hard time with the whole life-threatening pandemic thing, but could you guys _maybe_ keep the sex noises down? Just a bit?”

Cas blinks.

“You can hear us?” That can’t be right; Charlie lives three miles away. Has she bugged their apartment for some reason?

“No, but your neighbor can, and this is the second time she’s texted me to ask you to please, for God’s sake, _shut up_.”

Oh. That makes much more sense.

Although, it also means that Dean did _not_ tell Charlie they were having sex, which then means he’s probably _exactly_ as oblivious as Cas thinks.

Cas suppresses a sigh.

“Ah. Sorry.”

“No worries, I’m sure you just didn’t realize how loud you got,” she assures him kindly. “Speaking of which – how long have you been having sex with Dean?”

He freezes.

If Dean really doesn’t know, Cas definitely doesn’t want Charlie _telling_ him.

“We’re not . . . having sex, as such.”

There’s a brief silence, then:

“Cas.”

Cas winces.

“I . . . I suppose it – I do think of it as sex, in some ways, but Dean doesn’t, so it’s . . . it’s not really fair to call it _sex,_ exactly.”

A longer silence follows, partway through which Cas realizes his mistake.

“Not that I’m taking advantage, I just – I am consenting to what I think it is, just as he is consenting to what he thinks it is, and neither of those things are in conflict with one another, so it’s . . . I think it’s fine?”

He waits, a little hopeful she’ll confirm that for him.

“ _Cas_.”

“Charlie.”

“Have you thought about maybe _asking_ Dean what he thinks it is?”

He frowns.

“I don’t need to. We’ve discussed what we’re doing, at length – as healthy adults do -”

He cuts off as Charlie lets out a loud, violent, hacking sneeze.

“Charlie?”

“Yup, go on.”

“And I think Dean just views it as . . . mutually beneficial.”

“Um. Is that not what sex is?”

“Well, yes, but that – that doesn’t _make_ it sex _,_ necessarily.”

“Riiiiight. And what, exactly, do you think would definitely make it sex?”

Cas clears his throat.

“Um. Well. Probably – um. If . . . well, if Dean _wanted_ to have sex with me. Then it would be sex,” Cas reasons, then quickly adds, “But he doesn’t, so it’s mostly not. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about it, Charlie. It’s, um. It’s not a big deal.”

Silence, again.

“Although – please don’t mention it to Dean.”

“Don’t mention it to Dean,” she echoes. “You mean, don’t tell him you guys are having sex with each other?”

“Only by some definitions,” Cas says hastily, and after a moment, Charlie sighs.

“I can’t believe they’re going to give you idiots _degrees,_ ” she says, and then his phone beeps at him, signaling the end of the call.

Anyway, Cas worries about it for a little while, conscious of the fact that at no point did Charlie agree _not_ to broach the issue with Dean, and he blames his trepidation for the fact that he doesn’t hear Dean come up behind him until there’s a sudden warmth as his back, a soft pair of lips brushing against his own as a cheek touches his.

Cas jerks away on instinct, the contact unexpected.

“What are you doing?” he blurts out, and Dean’s surprise disappears, expression turning nonchalant as he balances his elbows on the sofa back.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I, uh. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, but – what – what _were_ you doing?”

Dean shrugs, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Uh, just . . . I was in the shower, you know, thinking about kissing you and stuff, and I realized there’s a lot of different kinds of kisses, right? And I – you know, I want you to be comfortable with all of them.”

Cas stares.

“All of them,” he repeats, struggling through a surreal sense of befuddlement. “Um. What kinds are those, exactly?”

Dean frowns.

“Dude, seriously? Don’t tell me that jackass only kissed you in the bedroom. There’s – you know, good-morning kisses and greeting kisses and sofa makeouts and all the other shit. He didn’t do any of that with you?”

Cas hesitates.

And then, because he really is the _worst_ friend in the world-

“No. Not really. That, um. That’s part of why we broke up,” Cas continues, and it’s not _entirely_ a lie – although Cas was the one responsible for most of the not-kissing and anyway, Bal was incredibly nice about all of it and clearly distraught that it had come to that. “Bal has an extremely high sex drive, and I did not.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, agog.

And then his jaw goes tight.

“Are you _kidding_ me? He dumped you because you wouldn’t put out more often?”

Technically, the mutual pressure was creating tension and they came to an equally mutual agreement to relieve themselves of it, one which immediately returned their friendship to a more solid foundation, but Bal _is_ a generous, loving friend, and if there’s anything he could sympathize with, morally charcoal compromises made in pursuit of sexual gratification would be it.

Cas hangs his head.

“Basically,” he mumbles, and in his peripheral, he sees Dean’s fingers sink into the cushion of the sofa back, knuckles going white. A deafening silence follows, so long Cas suddenly wonders if this was as good an idea as he thought.

But then Dean’s dropping to his knees, expression tight, and reaching out to take hold of Cas’s jaw.

When he speaks, there’s such fierceness in his eyes, Cas stumbles over the next breath.

“Your limey asshole ex didn’t know shit. First of all, when you manage to get out of your head and just let go – you’re fucking awesome at kissing, Cas. The only problem you have is that you’re not _comfortable_ with it, and that’s not _your_ fault, it’s _his_.”

Cas simply looks back, eyes wide, and Dean takes a deep breath.

“Second? It’s okay if you’re bad at kissing. And it’s okay if you’ve got a low sex drive. There’s someone out there that’s not gonna give two shits about either thing, because you -you’re _amazing,_ Cas, and hanky-panky bullshit is gonna be the least of what they want you for.”

Which – Cas very much appreciates the sentiment, but it’s the sort of sentiment a platonic friend usually delivers, and from Dean, with whom he’d like to be more than just platonic friends, it’s a little disheartening. It’s _appropriate,_ certainly, but since Cas’s particular insecurities would be more soothed by a long speech detailing all the ways Cas’s body is completely irresistible to anyone interested in things like bodies – i.e. Dean – it’s difficult to muster the response Dean is probably hoping for.

Still, Dean is being a sweet, wonderful, supportive friend, a thing Cas also very much loves about him, and when he tries to smile, it’s actually not that difficult.

“Thank you for saying that, Dean,” he says softly, but Dean looks frustrated.

“Cas. I’m not – I’m not _saying_ shit, I’m telling you how reality works. You and Baltha-fucker didn’t work out, which is fine, people need different things – but he had no business trying to say the problem was _you_ when it wasn’t. You – you’re perfect, Cas. Just the way you are. You guys just weren’t right for each other. But somebody else _will_ be, and they’re gonna count their lucky stars they found you, and you don’t have to change a damn thing about yourself for that to happen.”

Cas blinks. There has yet to be any mention of his rippling muscles or firm ass or incredible sexual prowess, apparent in the very way he moves, but actually – this is – _you’re perfect, Cas_ is sort of hovering right there at the front of his brain, and as Cas slowly processes the rest of it, Dean’s breathtaking conviction that there’s a somebody out there who’s going to count their lucky stars they found Cas, he feels a cautious flicker of hope.

If Dean really thinks that – if Dean said _you’re perfect,_ instead of _somebody out there is gonna think you’re perfect,_ clearly implying that Cas’s perfection is potentially a reality in _Dean’s_ eyes . . . is it not possible, then, that Dean could turn out to _be_ that somebody?

“And as far as a low sex drive goes-” Dean continues, oblivious, then snorts. “Cas, you got it up twice this morning, all on your own. That one day you had your stupid paper? We had you all worked up and going off _three times,_ and you didn’t need a boyfriend to help you get into it. I watch you come all over yourself or me every goddamn day, practically, and as far as I can tell, your ex-douchebag was just a hindrance. Your sex drive is _average_.” Dean pauses. “Hell, maybe even _high._ You’ve got a whole box full of toys, and you broke the damn soap dish fucking yourself on your fingers, the way it sounds like you did practically every time you showered – that’s not somebody with a low sex drive, buddy, that’s somebody whose old fuckboy partner was just dead weight.”

Cas would be feeling very sorry for Balthazar right now, but honestly, he’s too busy thinking about that day Dean made him come three times.

He might not need a _boyfriend_ to help him get into it, but a tenderhearted, freckled boy with a deliciously soft tummy and a rock-solid ass – not to mention a devastating natural talent for operating penetrative vibrators – certainly doesn’t hurt.

In fact, Cas has a wild suspicion that if said boy was, in fact, the boyfriend in question, it might even make it _better_.

Dean grips his chin a little harder.

“You know what I think happened?”

Cas discreetly wets his dry mouth.

“What?”

“I think he was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Cas echoes faintly.

Dean nods.

“I think he was jealous of all the people who looked at you, looked at just how fucking hot you were, head to toe, and thought about what it’d be like to get you between their sheets. I think he was one of those selfish, insecure assholes who’d rather make you feel like less than actually do the work to show you he was worth your time.”

Cas tries not to perk up too obviously.

“Oh.” He hesitates. “I . . . I doubt anyone ever thought that.”

Cas has been catcalled, come onto, and aggressively groped in all the strange places Meg likes to take him to, more times than he can even count, but _technically_ , none of that actually says anything about his attractiveness, and it is thus irrelevant.

The anger in Dean’s face, however, is extremely relevant, and Cas does his very best not to look too eager as he waits for it to translate into words.

“Oh, they did, Cas, and trust me, Balthazar knew it. Guys like you, with big baby blues like that and hair that says somebody just fucked you straight through a mattress – guys with the kind of ass horny renaissance fanboys chiseled into perfectly wholesome marble – don’t just walk by without getting noticed. It’s creepy as fuck, but I’d bet my baby you didn’t go twenty feet without somebody you passed thinking of all the dirty things they could do to you, and a guy like _Balthazar_? He wouldn’t have had any illusions about it, because he’s exactly the kind of skeezy somebody who’d be thinking of ‘em.”

Cas has been holding his breath for twenty seconds at least, and he forces himself to carefully let it out.

“Thinking what kind of things?” he asks roughly, just to torture himself, and Dean blinks, flinching back slightly.

“Uh. You know. The kind of things people like that think about people like you.”

“But I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” he tries, and Dean’s hold on him goes slack.

“Uh. Just – you know. Dirty stuff.”

“ _What_ dirty stuff?” Cas presses, a little breathless, and abruptly, Dean drops his hand.

“Dude, I don’t know. It’s not like _I_ ever thought any of them.”

It’s as though a bucket of cold dead herring en route to a captive seal’s mouth gets redirected to upend over Cas’s head instead. He’s glad he’s sitting down, or else the irrational wave of hurt crashing over him might literally bowl him over.

Dean, ever oblivious, just goes on.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, whatever he told you, whatever he tried to make you feel bad about – that was just him being insecure because he knew you could do better and he didn’t want you to figure it out. End of story.”

Cas just nods, somewhat listless, although Dean not thinking about him that way is hardly a surprise.

Dean’s not an idiot; if Dean had _ever_ thought about him that way, he would have known what they were doing was sex from the first, and he’d have said something.

“Hey.” Dean’s hand is back on his face, gentle on his cheek. “I know that – it’s hard to change the way you think, once somebody’s got you convinced. I don’t expect you to be able to do it overnight. But I mean it, Cas. You’ve got nothing but good things to offer somebody, and whether you find your footing with the whole kissing thing or not, you’re gonna be irresistible.”

Really, Cas decides glumly. It serves him right for concocting this scheme in the first place.

“Alright. If you say so.”

Dean nods, hand slipping up to brush back Cas’s hair.

“I do.” He pauses, stroking gently. “I know we’ve both got work to do, but that was kinda heavy stuff, so . . . how ‘bout we take a break?”

Cas nods.

“Alright,” he says again, and scoots over to make a space for Dean.

A short TV break somehow turns into practicing the aforementioned sofa makeouts which somehow turns into a heated masturbation session which somehow ends with Cas desperately grinding into Dean’s lap while Dean gropes his ass and kisses his neck and tells him things like, “Low sex drive my ass, look at you go, Cas, you’re a fucking force of nature,” rough and low right in his ear, and Cas has neither the heart nor the functioning brains to tell Dean that, as it turns out, his sex drive is battery-operated, and that battery’s name appears to be _Dean Winchester._

Anyway, once he’s frantically shut Dean up with his mouth, strictly out of consideration for Jim and Izzy and the kids, who shouldn’t have to listen to the disturbing, strangled sounds that try to come out of said mouth when Dean promptly reaches into Cas’s sweatpants to help jerk him to the spectacular finish and said finish quickly follows, they sort of collapse sideways in a heap of sweaty limbs, panting against each other as the sofa cushions discreetly try and draw away underneath them.

“Gimme a sec,” Cas mumbles into Dean’s neck. “I’ll suck you.”

Dean lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah, uh, no need.”

Cas lifts his head, squinting.

“You came in your pants?”

“Uh. Technically, you came in yours first.”

Cas snorts, briefly considers he suggest practicing awkward we-just-creamed-our-pants kissing, then reluctantly draws away instead, perching on the edge of the cushion and grimacing at his lap.

“I did,” he agrees. “And now I think I need a shower.”

Dean shrugs, sitting up next to him.

“Same,” he mumbles, and then leans over and presses his mouth to Cas’s.

Cas makes a startled sound, still not used to the idea of Dean _randomly kissing him,_ and Dean pauses.

“People, uh. People get really hurt if you just kinda roll out of bed and wander off after sex, which – which obviously doesn’t apply _here_ , but I don’t want you to like, accidentally pick up any bad habits, or anything.”

“Oh,” Cas says dumbly. “Okay. That, um. That makes sense.”

Dean quickly nods, and then opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to say something else.

But then he shuts it, nodding again.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He clears his throat. “Anyway . . .”

He hesitates, and for a moment, they simply sit there, looking at each other.

And then Dean leans in and starts kissing Cas again, and as always, Cas decides to just not to think about it too hard.

Unfortunately, not thinking about it becomes increasingly difficult, because Cas gets kissed up against the fridge while Tuna Helper (of course) is on the stove, and even though he firmly withdraws to his room alone to work, just out of necessity, he gets a long, thorough makeout before bed, Dean’s mouth hot against his lips and jaw and throat and sternum until Cas is squirming underneath him and somehow said mouth has found its way around his cock.

“Number four,” Dean announces, breaths ragged in the dark as he squeezes Cas’s hips, thoroughly licking him clean. “See? Doesn’t get more average than that.”

If Cas were any less spent from his fourth orgasm in a 24-hour period, he would have laughed. Letting your roommate make you come four times in the span of a day and making up elaborate lies about an emotionally damaging past relationship so he’ll kiss you while he does it is almost _certainly_ not average behavior, but since he was exhausted and sensitive and Dean had shimmied back up him to resume gently mouthing over his temple and jaw and ear while Cas cooled down, he ultimately just laid there and took it.

Anyway, Dean’s gone when he wakes up, but he gets a cheerful ‘Morning, Sunshine,’ as he stumbles into the kitchen, and as soon as Cas has his tea steeping, Dean sidles up to him and backs him against the counter and kisses him for so long the coconut black tea is bitter by the time he gets to it.

Practice or not – surely, Dean wouldn’t decide to make out with him first thing in the morning unless some part of him wanted to?

On the other hand, Dean did suck him off in the dark of the room they effectively share together and the first words out of his mouth once he’d finished choking on Cas’s come were a reassurance regarding Cas’s sex drive – so who knows? Maybe he’s just _that_ good of a friend.

Regardless, the day is full of cheek kisses and neck kisses and short makeout sessions just about every time they so much as make _eye_ contact, and when Dean crouches down on the floor to plug Cas’s laptop cord into the outlet strip when they move into the bedroom for the evening, he gives Cas’s foot a squeeze and an affectionate peck on the instep on his way back up.

It’s ridiculous, and combined with the soft little smile Dean sends him afterward, it makes Cas’s heart race about as much as it does whenever Dean’s mouth looks like its destination might be Cas’s cock.

Anyway, the next few days dawn with more of the same, and despite separating themselves by unspoken agreement in the interests of not failing their exams because they were too busy not-quite-fucking each other, Cas still feels like he’s getting kissed more than he ever has in his _life._

And as much as he loves that, is continually amazed by his own unexpected cunning in bringing it to pass . . .

He’s starting to wonder if _maybe_ his plan is sort of blowing up in his face, because he thinks if Dean tried kissing someone else at this point, never mind more, his heart would rupture right out of its cavity.

Well, or he’d murder that someone. He likes to think he’s above that, but even if the contender for Dean’s affections is no more than a vague chalk outli- that is, shadowy shape inside his head, he feels a somewhat overwhelming amount of hate for them.

Because even more than Cas wants kisses, or even wants Dean to fuck him, Cas wants – he wants Dean to give him _promises_. This limbo of benefits is wonderful, so long as the world is still burning and Dean’s still afraid to go out, but Cas doesn’t want to be thirty and retrieving their groceries from a disinfection chamber between their front door and their porch, only still with Dean because Dean never recovered his ability to go among people.

He wants Dean to _choose_ him.

Is Dean really not affected by anything they’re doing?

“Hey,” he says softly, during their first long study break of the week, and Dean hums, still slowly thrusting the pink and white cat in and out of him while he lays soft kisses all along Cas’s collarbone. It buzzes on its lowest setting, one rounded silicone ear just barely glancing off Cas’s prostate on every leisurely press inside, and Dean’s somehow managed to get him in a state he almost thinks he could maintain for hours.

Truly, Dean is the best lover Cas has never had.

“Yeah?” Dean murmurs, dipping down to lave along his left nipple, and Cas arches with a quiet moan. He tried to keep his sounds to himself, when they first started doing things like this, but Dean doesn’t and he doesn’t seem to mind if Cas shouts at the walls like he has a social event he’s dreading and he wants an excuse not to have to speak to anyone once he gets there – although, Charlie did get yet another text from Izzy – and honestly, Cas can’t be bothered to feel self-conscious anymore, about anything, really.

Nothing besides his feelings, at least.

He cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, gently tugging the way he knows Dean likes, and Dean makes an appreciative sound, thrusting the toy in a little harder.

“Not too much,” Cas warns quickly, though he pushes into it, squirming a little, and Dean pauses.

“You feeling sensitive?”

Only in the best of ways, but mostly, it’s been a while since they had time for this, and Cas wants it to last.

Still, Dean might have some questions about that, so Cas simply shrugs.

“Uh. A little.”

“Huh. Guess it’s been longer than it usually has. Maybe I should stick to blowing you for a few days, ‘till we’ve got time to do it right.”

Cas closes his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much.”

“Yeah? If you say so.” Dean kisses his shoulder, then moves back to Cas’s nipple. “Oh – what were you saying?”

“Um. Just . . . how long do you think . . . all of this, will last? With all of the regulations and the lockdowns, I mean. Longterm.”

Dean pauses again, breath hot as it ghosts over the damp little nub.

“Oh. Uh. Well, honestly, it _should_ last for a while. Might be a long time before we have a vaccine. People need to be careful.”

“And . . . you plan to stay inside, for the most part?”

Dean gives him an incredulous look, raising his head and leaving Cas’s aching nipple cold.

“Dude, I definitely don’t plan to die or kill anyone by wandering all over town every night and day. I don’t care about their stupid regulations, I’m not going anywhere unless I have to.”

It’s pretty much what Cas was thinking, and as expected, answers none of his questions.

“Ah. Okay.”

Dean suddenly stills, brow knitting.

“Why? Do you . . . I mean . . . you’re gonna stay with me, right? I know we’re graduating and stuff, but even if we decide to move in with my parents or something until shit goes back to normal, we – we’ll stay together? Won’t we?”

Cas thinks he may stop breathing, staring back at Dean in surprise.

Because no, it might not be a promise or a declaration of any sort, at least not the kind Cas is after, but it is a reminder that Dean _does_ have somewhere else to go, other people to be with, and even if none of them are his would-be chalk-outline lovers . . .

He wants Cas, in some capacity, and for now, he _is_ choosing him.

The original terms of quarantine have changed, far beyond the expiration of their lease, and even so-

He still wants to be with Cas.

Eyes suddenly stinging, Cas quickly tugs Dean’s head up, leaning forward to kiss him.

“Of course,” he murmurs. “You – you’re my best friend, Dean. I’ll always stay with you.”

He feels Dean swallow.

And then Dean tucks his face in Cas’s neck, breathing deeply.

“Why don’t, uh. Why don’t I help you finish, and then maybe we could make something sweet and just – hang out in bed for a little while? I feel pretty good about the exams, so far.”

Cas nods, lightly stroking his back.

“Me, too. I’d like that.”

So Dean turns the toy on high and finishes him much more quickly than Cas originally intended, but Cas doesn’t mind.

The cookies are just the right amount of sweet when they get back in bed.

This is the greatest relationship of Dean’s _life_.

He just wishes it were an actual relationship, one he could _count_ on for the rest of his life.

The fact that Cas seems to have a super incomplete understanding of sex and relationships – like, seriously, only _Cas_ could be oblivious enough to say something like ‘I’ll always stay with you’ and honestly just mean it _platonically –_ means Dean’s practically getting away with really sexy murder here, and as guilty as he feels about it, he tries to reason that he’s just helping Cas feel more comfortable and confident in his sexuality.

He _also_ wonders if maybe, if he distracted Cas with bees or guinea pigs or something, Dean could talk him into a friendship ceremony and Cas would just trust him enough to not look too closely at the paper he was signing for it.

Because even if Dean could cleverly reason around it before, this, right here – what they’re doing with the snuggling and kissing and intense masturbation sensations and basically locking themselves in their rooms to make sure they keep their hands off each other – this is _dating_. Dean can bullshit to Sam – who for some reason won’t pick up his calls – and he can bullshit to Charlie – why doesn’t Izzy just text _them,_ if they’re supposedly so noisy? Honestly, sometimes he wonders if Charlie isn’t just making stuff up to mess with him – but at the end of the day, he can’t bullshit himself.

At the end of the day, the reality is this:

Dean’s taken advantage of Cas’s loneliness and low self-esteem and tricked him into dating him, and no matter how hard he tries to remind himself he’s better than this, all it takes is one absent look from Cas, lounging around like a sexy live grenade just begging for its pin to be pulled, and Dean forgets what ethics are altogether.

Besides, he really _does_ want to help Cas, and as long as Cas doesn’t know just how stupidly, selfishly delighted Dean is every time he goes in for a kiss and Cas doesn’t push him away, that’s what he’s doing.

So – that makes it okay, right? Plenty of people hide their feelings from their friends. It doesn’t have anything to do with the friendship, or what either of them are willing to _do_ for it. Really, if you know they’re unrequited, it’s just – it’s just _polite._

And like this, Cas spread out underneath him while Dean pins his knees wide and teases him with fleeting, shallow thrusts of a thick rainbow dildo and carefully refrains from offering to do stuff like this for the rest of their lives when Cas breaks away from the kiss to groan out how good it feels and plead for more – well, it doesn’t get much more polite than that.

Anyway, Dean really wishes they made strap-ons for people with dicks – actually, do they? Could strap-ons be sex-neutral to begin with? He makes a note to text Charlie later, figuring she’ll probably know, but then thinks better of it and changes the for-later instruction to ‘google’ – because now that he kisses Cas while they get off together, the angles are increasingly awkward. In a perfect world, Dean would just diligently work him open, slick up his own cock, and slide right inside to sensually thrust against Cas’s prostate while they made out, but that kind of sounds like sex, so Dean sticks to practicing kissing so Cas can be confident and teasing Cas’s happy spot with the tip of his finger or whatever toy they’re using so Cas can have the complete masturbatory experience and then admiring Cas’s beautiful naked body while he satisfies his own self-love needs and comes all over it, and just tries not to be too disappointed that no sex is being had.

Because even if they’re not having sex and they’re never going to – even if there’s an easily-transmittable virus on the loose and no one is taking it nearly as seriously as Dean thinks they should be – they _are_ dating, whether Cas realizes it or not, and Dean is bound and determined to just enjoy it while it lasts.

“Dean – _Dean_ – fuck you, I bought that size for a reason, now _give_ it to m- _fuck!_ ” Cas shouts, jerking as Dean hastily slides it home, and Dean kisses his cheek apologetically.

“Sorry,” he says. “Went somewhere else for a minute.”

Cas stills, angling his head away to frown at him.

“Where?” he demands, looking so offended Dean would laugh, if he weren’t worried about it.

“Nowhere important,” he promises. “Just, uh. Remembering we used our last packet of tuna.”

Cas suddenly looks uneasy.

“Well . . . we are due for a grocery run.”

Dean frowns, hand stilling on the base of the dildo halfway through the next thrust.

“No, we’re not.”

Cas’s brow furrows.

“Dean.”

“Cas. Dude. We’re good for at least two weeks.”

“Dean, we haven’t _been_ good for at least two weeks,” Cas protests, and Dean huffs.

“We’ve got like, a dozen cans of evaporated milk, a boatload of ramen packets, canned beans practically coming out our ears, and a bunch of shit in the freezer I’ve been saving for a special occasion. I think there’s even a ziploc with ground beef in it.” He pauses. “Although – I’m gonna have to defrost it to be sure.”

Cas just looks at him for a moment, baleful.

“Right. And that’s – very prepared, of you, but – Dean, I don’t _want_ to eat beans and ramen for a month. Or mysterious freezer meat,” he adds, frowning, and Dean looks back, incredulous.

“Yeah, and you don’t wanna catch a fatal virus, either. Sacrifices, Cas. They’ve gotta be made.”

Cas sighs, gaze shifting to the ceiling, and Dean shakes his head, pushing the toy in again.

“Look,” he says, as soothingly as he can manage, although he’s _totally_ right, in this case. “Let’s talk about it later, okay?”

Cas is quiet for a moment, and then he nods.

“Okay.”

Dean smiles, relieved, and leans down to kiss him as he begins thrusting the toy into Cas’s tight, slippery hole in earnest, and before long, it’s clear Cas doesn’t give two shits about the grocery situation anymore.

Seriously, though – forget _dating._ Sometimes, Dean already feels like they’re _married._

It’s not a bad feeling, though. Really, more than anything-

He just wishes Cas felt the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lying/Manipulation/Potentially Dubious Consent: In an effort to get Dean to kiss him, Cas lies about Balthazar having told him he was bad at kissing, and also indicates that he criticized Cas’s ‘low’ sex drive, as well. He intentionally leads the conversation in such a way as to prompt Dean to offer to practice with him. Dean is indeed outraged, and comes to the desired conclusion.
> 
> Additionally, Cas realizes that what he and Dean are doing constitutes sex; likewise, Dean comes to the conclusion that he has basically tricked Cas into dating. Both of them wonder about the ethics/consent issues of being privy to this understanding while the other party is not, but neither decide to do anything different, determining that as long as what is actually happening is approved of/consented to, the labels or individual feelings don’t matter.


	15. the tongue-in-cheek incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: brief references to bloodplay and watersports/scat (none of these things happen or are seriously discussed), failed sex position (sixty-nining; this is definitely not a broader judgment on that, but these two run into some pitfalls), implied/referenced hypercritical parents, rimming, Dean calls Cas a ‘good boy’ a couple times just to be an ass but Cas is a little turned on (he doesn’t say anything, and that’s unlikely to be revisited, though), discussions of barebacking and cream pies (bottom!Cas), potential pressure to perform a sex act (that’s not the intent, nor is it the real problem of the person possibly being pressured, but it can be read that way, details in the notes), please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Note: Dean has a thought about ‘the one time he actually had sex with Cas’ thinking in terms of penetrating him with his dick; to be clear, these two have been having _extraordinary_ amounts of sex already, much of it penetrative in some way, if not via penis. Due to the nature of the request, Dean is having a little more trouble distancing himself from this act in particular, and in more general terms, Dean is beginning to struggle with all the grey areas and his own willful denial as time goes on (again, they’ve already been having sex for a while). That being said, penis insertion doesn’t count for ‘more’ (sometimes it counts for less, ask anyone :D hey-o) and it’s not my intent to suggest anything like that.
> 
> I totally lied about the wait this time, I got caught up with real-life nonsense and also my other WIP is thisclose to being done and I really want to finish it and I didn’t realize how long it had been since I’d worked on this! Also when I finally finished this chapter, it was obvious I’d been writing a bunch for my other story, and I had to rewrite half of it >> I apologize (as always). Thank you very, very much for your patience, and I hope you’re all doing well! Please enjoy ♡

It’s the last day before finals week, and too exhausted to stare at words on computer screens any longer, they’ve both retreated to Cas’s bed for a mindless TV session before the week of hell finally begins.

Dean is snuggled down against the pillows, Cas tucked in beside him while Dean duly strokes his hair and hip, trying not to see the goddamn backlit words anyway, when Cas shifts in his arms and asks:

“Have you ever tried that?”

Dean quickly shakes away thoughts of tiny print on screens, glancing down to find Cas frowning at the television, and he follows his gaze, trying to figure out what he missed. As far as he can tell, a bunch of the main characters are just gossiping at the bar table in what is _clearly_ fixing to be one of the crack episodes, and he still has no idea what he’s actually being asked, here.

“Tried what?”

Cas briefly looks up at him.

“Sixty-nining,” he says, like he’s just telling Dean the time as requested, and Dean pretty much chokes on his own spit.

“I – what?”

“Sixty-nining,” Cas repeats, unperturbed, and Dean blinks.

“Uh. No? No, it – I mean, I kinda wanted to, but it seems . . . uh. Dangerous, almost?”

Cas chuckles, a tiny quiver against Dean’s ribs.

“Right. Bal asked me, a few times, but . . . honestly, one of the things I always hated about having sex was trying new things.”

Dean gives him a surprised look.

“Really?” Dean’s always been up for trying new things, but maybe that’s just natural curiosity (or deviance). Even when he’s pretty sure he’s not gonna be into it, like . . . it’s sex. As long as nobody’s getting out the razor blades or asking about non-standard fluids, if your partner’s offering, why the hell wouldn’t you just go for it?

Worst-case scenario, you both end up agreeing to never speak of it again.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

Cas is quiet for a moment, and then he shrugs slightly.

“It’s just . . . hard to decide if you even like it, when you’re worried about – being weird, or doing it wrong, or ruining it for your partner. Or whatever else could go awry.” He pauses, considering. “Well, and when it came to sixty-nining – it sounded kind of stupid.”

Dean hesitates, sort of wanting to tug on that first thread there, but worried he’ll just upset Cas.

“I mean, yeah, but – also kinda nice. Getting sucked off while you get to go down on someone else – it’s the best of both worlds, isn’t it?”

Cas snorts.

“Well, that’s certainly one way of looking at it.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he glances down, brow knitting. “It’s not that I didn’t – it sounds _interesting_ , it’s just – too far outside of my comfort zone, I guess.”

_Too far outside of my comfort zone._

_One of the things I always hated about about having sex._

_When you’re_ _worried_ _about – being weird, or doing it wrong, or ruining it for your partner._

And suddenly – Dean feels like an _idiot_. Two years, he’s lived with Cas, seen the way Cas politely turned down offers most people would envy, quietly happy every time Dean, as a good friend does, cuts his night short to just go back to the apartment and watch TV with him, and he thought ‘oh, Cas just isn’t interested.’ Even when Dean shoved down his own selfish interests and tried to be a _really_ good friend and offer to play wingman, Cas always just said he’d rather hang out with Dean, and Dean never read anything more into that than was there.

It’s clear now, that he should have thought harder about a guy as hot and smart and funny and sweet as Cas is preferring to spend all his time with _Dean_ instead of going out and sowing his wild oats, because there’s only one possible explanation, and now that Dean knows what a fucking shitbag Balthazar was, he’s seeing it.

Cas doesn’t have the _confidence_.

The kissing, what he’s saying about sixty-nining and trying new stuff – Cas is just so fucking amazing it never would have occurred to Dean that he’d be anything but a self-assured sex God, but the running theme here is Cas feeling awkward and insecure, and if it’s preventing him from even looking for someone – from _wanting_ someone, the way he fantasizes about – then someone needs to _help_ him.

And right now – that someone is _Dean._

“What about if you did it with me?” he blurts out, and feels Cas go still. Hastily, he shifts away a little, turning inward so he can look Cas in the eye, undeterred by the blankness there. “Listen – I totally get what you’re saying, about being self-conscious and stuff, but – I think maybe you’re more worried than you should be. But – it’s like the kissing. If you think it’ll help you to practice, or – or try out anything you might wanna do with a partner so you can really _enjoy_ it when you get there – let’s do it. This is the perfect time.”

Cas swallows, blinking wide eyes.

“You’d . . . practice . . . having sex with me?”

“Well, it wouldn’t really be sex,” Dean says quickly, lest Cas feel too weird to accept the help he needs, and for a second, he swears he sees Cas’s eye twitch.

“What _would_ it be?”

Dean just tries to look as nonchalant as earthly possible.

“Honestly? Just . . . more of what we’ve already been doing.”

Again, Dean sees that weird little twitch happen, Cas’s jaw tightening ever-so-slightly.

Maybe it’s a nervous thing?

“More of what we’ve been doing,” he repeats, and Dean nods, giving his hair a slow, soothing stroke.

“Yeah. Just . . . being there for each other. Helping each other out, same as we would ourselves. Just – in this case, you _can’t_ help yourself, so. Use me.”

Cas’s throat bobs on another hard swallow, mouth opening slightly, and Dean winces. He shouldn’t have phrased it that way; Cas is one of the kindest, most empathetic people he’s met. ‘Using’ somebody probably wouldn’t sit well with him.

“Cas,” Dean says, before Cas can form a protest. “Just – I think – this is important. Assuming we survive Covid and the world goes back to some kind of normal eventually – I don’t want us half-assing life. Especially _you,_ man. You deserve to have everything you could possibly want from it. I never – I don’t ever want you to pass something up because you’re too unsure to go after it, so if there’s _anything_ I can do to help you stop feeling that way? I swear to God, Cas. I’ll do it, whatever it is.”

Cas sucks in a breath, and for a moment, he just looks at Dean.

Then he shuts his eyes.

“Dean,” he starts, reaching up, tugging Dean’s hand out of his hair, and Dean frowns.

“What?”

“I don’t . . .” he hesitates, grip tightening. “When you say – I just – I think this is starting to be-”

He stops, opening his eyes, expression strange, and Dean suddenly feels a flicker of anxiety.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Cas doesn’t answer, simply stares at him, that confused, almost _despairing_ look in his eye.

And then it evens out, and he abruptly looks away.

“We could try it,” he says, quiet. “Sixty-nining. If you’re sure.”

Dean settles down, relieved.

Cas is just embarrassed, he decides. He’s got all these hangups about sex, and even if Dean isn’t his boyfriend, there’s probably still some reservations about trying stuff.

Dean’s job here is to show him there don’t _need_ to be.

“I’m sure if you’re sure.”

At last, Cas smiles slightly, nodding.

“Alright. When would you like to do that?”

“Uh . . . you wanted to try to fit in some Pilates tomorrow, right?”

“If we can.”

“Well . . . if we _can_. . . maybe after the showers?”

“That certainly seems timely,” Cas agrees, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, and _God._

Dean can’t resist.

He quickly leans forward and kisses him.

“We-just-made-sexy-plans kisses,” he mumbles, trying not to let out any girly sighs. “They’re important. Part of, uh, setting up the mood for later.”

“Ah.” Cas’s tongue flicks out, lips soft as he returns the kiss. “That makes sense.”

 _Logic,_ Dean thinks, half-smug and half-guilty.

It gets Cas every damn time.

They have time, as it turns out, an energetic, surprisingly focused morning concluded with Pilates at noon followed by quick-but-thorough showers, but actually, Dean’s not so sure that’s a good thing, because on _second_ thought-

Maybe he shouldn’t have tried so hard to talk Cas into this.

Like, Dean’s conflicted. It’s not that it’s not great, having Cas in his mouth at the same time Cas is sucking _him,_ but – like, the angle is kind of weird, to the point that he wonders if they’re maybe doing it wrong, and Dean’s getting a cool breeze from their hopefully-successfully-repaired AC in places he usually doesn’t because he’s sort of crouched over Cas’s face with his butt sticking out, and dear God, what is Cas even _seeing_ back there, anyway? The blood is rushing to Dean’s head a little and it’s kind of uncomfortable and Cas’s balls are in his face, which, while Dean _loves_ Cas’s balls, enjoys giving them a light fondle or squeeze or thorough lap of his tongue, mouthing over them while Cas squirms in pleasure, it’s disconcerting to have them right at eye level, and for some reason Dean’s struggling to keep his teeth where they’re supposed to be and-

“ _Fu_ _ff,_ ” he hisses around Cas’s cock when it becomes apparent that Cas, also, is having trouble managing his teeth, and Cas hastily pulls off.

“Sorry – sorry, it – the angle-”

Dean starts laughing, drawing off and letting his head fall forward as he shakes with amusement, and Cas huffs.

“Shut up, Dean. This is – surprisingly difficult. And awkward.”

Dean just laughs harder, and Cas sighs, patting the outside of his thigh.

“Are you done?”

“What? With laughing? Or with this position? I think this is like, the second-worst blowjob I’ve given in my life.”

“It’s not bad,” Cas insists. “It’s just – I have, perhaps, enjoyed the others more.”

“What, getting it from this angle doesn’t make your spidey-senses tingle?”

Cas is quiet for a moment.

Then he sighs.

Dean chuckles.

“I can try – I can play with your ass, a little, but – well, quality of the other thing might go down. Don’t know why I’m having so much trouble.”

There’s another silence, and then:

“How . . . how invested are you in becoming good at this?”

Dean just laughs again, then sort of rolls sideways and off of Cas to collapse on his back, still giggling.

“Not at all, buddy. Not at all.”

There’s a relieved sigh, and then Dean feels Cas’s fingers brush his own, reaching for his hand.

“Me, either,” he agrees. “What, um. What do you want to do, then?”

“Uh.” Dean hesitates, discreetly glancing somewhere in the scenic vicinity of Cas’s hips, just to be sure. “Well, we can grab a snack and watch some TV, but . . . I’m still hard.”

Cas snorts.

“That’s what I meant, Dean.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna _assume.”_ Dean pauses, idly thumbing across the center of Cas’s palm. “We could just take turns, unless there’s something else you wanted to try while we’re here.”

There’s silence, and Dean lifts his head a little, frowning, although Cas doesn’t look at him.

“Cas?”

“Nothing I think you’d be comfortable with,” Cas finally says, then squeezes Dean’s hand and sits up. “Alright. Since that was technically my idea, I’ll do you first.”

He moves to nudge Dean’s legs apart, eyes already fixed on his dick with that distant, battleworn-captain look, calculating and weirdly attractive to Dean’s finely-honed Sexy Cas receptors, but Dean quickly wriggles away, definitely not ready to let that one go.

“Hey, hey. Wait a sec. Talk to me, Cas. What are you thinking about?”

Cas frowns.

“Sucking your dick, obviously.”

Dean just gives him a Look.

“ _Before_ that. What would I not be comfortable with?”

Cas squints.

“I imagine there are a lot of things you wouldn’t be comfortable with.”

“What? No, there aren’t. I’m like . . . the most comfortable guy to ever relax and be okay with shit, ever. Just try me.”

Cas pauses, giving him an inscrutable look.

“I want a foursome with Jim and Izzy.”

Dean instantly recoils.

“Ew! They could have Covid!”

Cas lifts his brows.

“ _That’s_ your objection?”

“The biggest one!”

Cas hesitates, then looks reluctantly curious.

“What are the others?”

With a huff, Dean struggles upright, crossing his arms.

“Beside the point. Stop trying to change the subject, man. What did you think of?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Another time, Dean. Lie down.”

Dean stays stubbornly upright.

“No. I wanna know.”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you, and if you don’t want your dick sucked after all, I suppose we’re done here.”

Dean narrows his eyes.

“Does it involve piss?” he finally asks, and Cas’s jaw drops.

“ _What_? No!”

Dean hesitates.

“The other thing?”

“Dean!”

“That’s not a no,” Dean points out, and Cas’s mouth snaps shut.

“ _Dean_.”

“I’m just saying, if you don’t tell me, I’m gonna assume you want me to like, dress up as _Curious George_ and paint you with my feces while I fuck you with a banana.”

Cas lurches toward the edge of the bed, trying to scramble off.

“Alright, well, that was fun, I think I need to study n-”

Dean quickly grabs his wrist, tugging him back down and using momentum to nudge him onto his back.

“Hey, come on. I’m serious.” He pauses. “Also, I, uh. I might have to use like, chocolate frosting, but I will _totally_ do that if you really-”

“I really don’t,” Cas snaps, trying to struggle upright, but Dean quickly rolls over, pressing him down.

“Then _what_?”

Cas huffs, glowering at him, and makes another halfhearted attempt at pushing him off.

(Dean knows it’s halfhearted, because if it were fullhearted, he’d probably end up getting rolled a full three-sixty and face-planting into the pillows.)

“Then _nothing._ It’s not important.”

“Dude, if you can’t even ask _me_ to help you try it, you’re never gonna able to go for it with someone you’re actually into. This is totally important.”

Cas settles, at that, expression turning troubled, and Dean does his best to give him an encouraging look, gently stroking across one of his nipples for reassurance.

Abruptly, Cas looks away.

“I’ll think about it. For right now, let’s just – do what we always do.”

Dean studies him for a moment.

“How about this?” he finally asks. “You think about it, and in the meantime – why don’t I try rimming you?”

Cas stiffens, and not in the sexy way, blue eyes going wide.

“You – _what_?”

“Rimming you,” Dean repeats, wondering if he should try to start petting Cas’s other nipple, too, just to be extra-soothing. “Not into it?”

Cas opens his mouth, then shuts it.

Then he clears his throat, looking away.

“Uh. I – I’m not . . . _not_ into it. Just . . . don’t you think that would be . . . weird?”

Which is a totally fair response to your best friend asking to fuck you with his tongue until you come all over yourself, _however_ -

Dean’s not an idiot, and he already thought of this.

“No weirder than a blowjob. I figure . . . if you’d do it to yourself, using me’s not that different.”

Cas swallows, gaze briefly bouncing back to Dean’s before it moves away again.

“I . . . I suppose. But – even if _I’d_ do it – would _you_?”

“Uh. What do you mean?”

“Just – I guess I always thought you’d think it was too gross.”

Dean blinks.

“You’ve – thought about me rimming you?”

Cas freezes, eyes flying to his.

“What? I – no, of course not, we – we’re friends, why on earth would I ever think about you rimming me? I just meant – _generally_ _speaking_ , I’ve always thought of you as . . . anti . . . gross things.”

Dean huffs, unsurprised – like Cas said: why _would_ he think about Dean rimming him? - and pinches his nipple a little before resting that hand over his ribs, giving him a stern look.

“I _am,_ Cas. But you’re not a gross thing.”

“Dean,” Cas protests, sounding a little desperate. “You – you’re talking about putting your _tongue_ in my _ass._ We’re not even dating. Are you _sure_ you’ve thought this through?”

Which – first of all, Dean’s definitely thought it through, multiple times, subjecting it to the most rigorous of mental standards one can apply to sexy thought experiments, and he can say with confidence that, assuming Cas is amenable to rolling over and getting tongue-fucked while Dean guiltily admires the view and hopefully gets to hear him earn another noise complaint delivered to Charlie’s phone, this is a fucking _excellent_ idea.

And second – Cas is right that Dean might feel a little weird about putting his tongue in an ass belonging to someone he wasn’t dating, _however_ , unbeknownst to Cas, they’re _totally_ dating and this?

‘Weird’ is the last word he’d use to describe it.

“What’s there to think through?” he asks instead, affecting as much unconcern as possible. “I’ve got a tongue, you’ve got an ass, you should have been having an orgasm right now . . . it’s just math, Cas.”

Cas screws up his face.

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“Okay, well, whatever it is – if you don’t want it, let’s not do it.” Dean pats his side, offering him a smile, despite his disappointment. “I think you mentioned some blowjobs?”

Cas says nothing for a moment, brow deeply creased.

And then he takes a deep breath.

“I want it,” he says slowly. “If you’re sure you do.”

Dean lights up.

“Yeah. Yeah, totally.”

Cas looks at him for a moment, something a little puzzled in it, but then he smiles.

“Okay. Then . . . if you get off of me, I’ll go make sure I’m, uh, definitely not gross.”

Dean laughs, rolling off of him.

“Sure, Cas.” He winks. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.

Cas isn’t ready.

“Are you sure you-” he starts, and Dean pinches his ass, presumably giving him a stern look or something, not that Cas can see it.

No, Cas is hiding in the pillows, hips elevated by whichever unlucky packet of synthetic down drew the short straw while Dean kneels between his thighs behind him, and if Dean _is_ giving him a stern look, the only part of him that can really appreciate it is his ass.

His upraised, utterly exposed ass, and granted, Dean’s finger-fucked him and given him his toys to Cas’s selfish heart’s content, but this is _different._

Dean’s about to put his _mouth_ there.

“Yes, I’m _sure._ Are _you_ sure?”

And Cas wants to say _no,_ he’s not sure, but every time he tries to think of a scenario that ends with ‘not getting Dean’s tongue in his ass’ after all, he finds that perhaps he’s a little more sure than he thinks.

Still.

He can’t believe he’s letting Dean _do_ this.

“I’m sure,” he mutters. “Just – stop if it’s too much of a – a chore.”

Dean snorts, Cas’s right asscheek receiving a soft pat this time rather than a pinch, and Cas shuts his eyes.

Yes, he’s let Dean do all kinds of other things, but this is Dean’s _tongue._ The sole, sensitive gateway to one of the greatest of his five senses.

And he is going to put it in the sole, sensitive gateway to what is considered one of the grossest of all human bodily functions.

What is Cas _thinking_?

(Cas knows what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about all the times he’s settled for a generously-lubricated finger stroked erratically inside himself while he pretends its Dean’s tongue, wet and eager and ready to lavishly destroy him, and he’s thinking he’d like better reference for the future.)

Anyway, speaking of which, are you supposed to tell someone who’s about to platonically eat you out that A) this is actually your first time and B) you’re actually not sure you _would_ do it to yourself, even if you could?

Cas lifts his head, glancing over his shoulder to find Dean surveying him with a bizarrely serious look, and decides that actually, the current situation is stressful enough and the best, most equitably comfortable course of action is to just lie back – or forward, in this case – and let Dean do what he’s going to do.

The seconds pass.

Cas tries not to squirm.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“What? Oh. Yeah. Just, uh. Thinkin’ about how I wanna do this.”

Cas lifts his brows at the pillow.

“Does it usually require a lot of planning?”

Dean hums, thumbing over his cheek.

“Not . . . _planning,_ exactly.” He pauses. “You’ve done this before, right?”

Cas tries not to tense too obviously.

“Well, one of my previous partners was a woman, so . . . something similar.”

“No, I didn’t mean _you,_ I meant – you’ve had someone do this to you?”

Cas has had someone _offer_ to do this to him, on multiple occasions, but no; close as he was to both his partners, the whole face-buried-in-his-ass prospect (as Dean so eloquently put it) got him every time.

Which, you would think, of all the faces Cas would be _most_ keen to spare potential spelunking accidents in dangerous, unstable surrounds, it would be the one he loved most, but alas. Cas is a selfish bastard, and since that’s the face he most wants buried there, he’s going to step aside and let Dean make this mistake for himself.

“I mean. Basically,” he tries, because fantasy totally counts, right?

“Uh. What the hell does ‘basically’ mean?”

“Oh, just – you know. Yes?”

“Then why didn’t you say yes? Did they just like – lick you on the outside or what?”

“Something like that?”

Dean’s silent for a moment.

And then he sighs.

“It was Baltha-fucker, wasn’t it?”

“Baltha-fucker?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters, the sound muffled, like his hand is on his face. “Okay, well, whatever shitty, half-assed rimjob he gave you-”

“Phrasing,” Cas points out, coughing, and predictably, Dean pinches him again.

“ _Anyway –_ the point is, whatever he did, forget about it, because I swear to God, I am gonna make this fucking _amazing_ for you. Hell, when we’re finished, you’re gonna be wondering why you haven’t been at the bars every goddamn weekend looking for a face to ride.” Dean pauses. “Before quarantine, I mean.”

Cas _won’t_ wonder that, for the same reason he never wonders about faces in bars and the people they belong to, somewhat preoccupied with a different face he’s much more familiar with, but if this is what motivates Dean . . .

“Alright.” He hesitates, then adds, “Although – it always is, Dean. So you know.”

“What?”

“Amazing,” he clarifies, and maybe he shouldn’t, maybe that’s an odd thing to say to the friend who doesn’t realize he’s having sex with you, but he doesn’t ever want Dean thinking his efforts are _wasted_. Cas’s parents might have though criticism was the key to better performance, but Cas knows better – knows _Dean,_ at least – and, well . . . you catch more spectacular orgasms with honey, as they say.

“Oh.” Dean’s quiet for a moment, and then he clears his throat. “Uh. Me too. I also – this is – I think, being able to do this with someone you totally trust, and – and that you like, as much as you and I like each other, that’s really – I mean, if you think about it, it _should_ be amazing, right?”

“Sure,” Cas agrees, because that’s certainly true. In Cas’s case, Dean being someone he adores with every errant particle of his being probably _also_ enhances the experience, but Dean doesn’t know that, and since ‘fuckbuddies’ are commonplace enough that plenty of other people must share the feelings Dean just expressed, he doesn’t need to. “That makes sense to me.”

“Yeah.” Dean takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Awesome. I – I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

They _absolutely_ aren’t, but they’re in the same book – albeit a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure one – and that’s good enough for Cas.

He smiles into the pillow, wiggling his hips a little, nerves significantly reduced, because this is – this is nice, and familiar, and another moment he suspects he’ll treasure, someday, because Dean is being so hopelessly _Dean_ it’s difficult for Cas not to just feel _good_ about it.

“Tell me if I do something wrong,” he murmurs, just in case, and feels Dean start shifting around, hands settling on the backs of Cas’s knees for support.

“All you’re supposed to do is enjoy yourself, Cas,” he says, giving Cas’s thigh a pat once he’s settled. When he speaks again, Cas can feel it, Dean’s breath hot against the crease of his ass. “You tell me if _I’m_ doing something wrong.”

“Alri-ah,” Cas gasps out, Dean’s solid, warm hands firmly gripping his cheeks, unceremoniously spreading him, and heat rushes to his face, the comfort of a minute ago departed as he realizes what’s happening. “Oh, God.”

“Shh,” Dean offers from behind him, where he is almost certainly at eye-level with Cas’s exposed hole, in all its strange, unseelie butt-related glory, and Cas suddenly realizes he should have told Dean he had a kink for blindfolding his partner, because _oh no._

“Wait. Wait – can you – can you close your eyes?” he manages, neck pricking with embarrassment, Dean’s hands still holding him open, and after a beat, Dean’s grip gentles.

“I can,” he says slowly. “I probably will, once I really get in there, but – you don’t need to be embarrassed, Cas.”

“That’s my _asshole,_ ” Cas retorts, incredulous, and Dean hums, hand shifting slightly, and then-

And then, presumably right before Dean’s eyes, his thumb strokes over it.

Cas can feel himself twitch, in a variety places, is sure Dean must have _seen_ him twitch, in the most pressing one, and good God, how can he possibly be this embarrassed and turned on all at once?

“Yeah, and it’s gorgeous, like the rest of you.”

Cas just clutches the sheet underneath the pillow a little harder, speechless.

Dean thinks he has low self-esteem, damn it. Dean thinks Bal was an unconscionable shitbag who took out his own insecurity on Cas. Dean thinks Cas needs lots of interesting orgasms and practice kisses and emotional propping-up in order to function in his future relationships.

Dean is not flirting, and even if he were, Cas would not be leaking precome over a compliment to his _asshole._

He _wouldn’t._

“I mean, assuming – like, objectively, you’re – the way we talked about, you know, not – you _know_?”

“Uh.” Cas doesn’t, is struggling to follow, Dean still holding his cheeks open, one thumb resting against his hole, but his nerves are quickly returning and Dean just told him his asshole was gorgeous and he’s going to put his _tongue_ in it and if he doesn’t start, Cas isn’t sure he won’t chicken out. “Yeah?”

“Good,” Dean says, sounding relieved, and then he coughs. “Uh. Spread your legs for me?”

“Any fucking time you want,” Cas mutters into the pillow, sliding his knees outward as he arches a little more, and Dean hums.

“What was that? Pillow’s muffling you.”

Cas lifts his head.

“I said, ‘is that what you meant?’”

“Oh. Yeah. Little more, though,” Dean adds, hands slipping to the back of Cas’s thighs and pushing and Cas’s face goes right back into the pillow as Dean makes a satisfied sound and pats one. “Good, Cas. Just like that.”

Cas bites his lip, a distinct little thrill bounding up from his stomach region, and takes a fortifying breath.

He only makes it halfway through, though, because an instant later, Dean’s hands are back on his ass, briefly massaging his cheeks, and then he’s spreading him again and lowering his head and-

“Nnhhh,” Cas helpfully informs the pillow, jerking, Dean’s tongue wet and warm and _totally fucking different_ than that generously-lubricated finger he’s used to. “ _Fuck_.”

Dean chuckles, also an incredibly interesting sensation for Cas, Dean’s tongue disappearing for a moment as it happens. A second later, it’s back, tip firm and nudging curiously against the tightly furled muscle of Cas’s rim, softening as it explores, turning wide and flat as it starts stroking over it.

Cas doesn’t whimper, the usual Dean-induced metaphorical flames burning hot alongside a new, tickling, giddy sensation in the pit of his stomach, because Cas is a grown man with a voice that has been likened to things which have at some point undergone extensive geological pressure and re-formation in the earth’s lithosphere, and whimpering is beneath him.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, tongue retreating once again, though he at least moves his thumb back over Cas’s spit-slick rim, gently pulling at it. “I can’t hear you.”

Cas inhales slowly, then turns his head.

“Wasn’t saying anything,” he croaks.

“Not what I meant,” Dean counters, rubbing over him, calloused thumb a harsh contrast to the squishy, textured muscle from before, and oh, boy, Cas hopes there will also be some fingers involved in this particular venture, because ‘both’ is sounding better by the second.

“I’m being polite to the neighbors,” he protests, and honestly, he’s being polite to Dean, too, because Dean neither wants nor should have to listen to all of Cas’s awkward grunts and cries while he gets taken apart in the way he’s always dreamed about.

(Cas is pretty sure there are going to be a lot.)

“How’m I supposed to know it’s good for you if you’re hiding in the pillows?” Dean insists. “I need to be able to hear you, so I know I’m doing it right.”

“I thought I was just going to tell you if you weren’t doing it right.”

Dean’s silent for a moment.

“Alright,” he finally says, vaguely challenging. “Then – I’ll just have to make sure you’re loud enough for me to hear you, anyway.”

Cas doesn’t even really get a chance to process that threat – promise? - because Dean’s grip on him tightens, thumb retreating as cool air touches his hole, and then Dean’s tongue flicks out against him, the barest of licks against his entrance. Cas tightens in response, body’s anticipation a well-honed reflex, and Dean makes a small sound.

“In a bit,” he murmurs, because _oh, right,_ he could probably tell. “Still tasting you.”

Cas muffles a groan into the pillow as Dean continues lapping at him, soft, sweet strokes and swirls clearly designed to tenderly nudge him face-first into an early grave. He can feel himself twitching, tiny little spasms as his confused body tries to prepare for what it usually gets when interesting things start happening there, and he hopes Dean interprets that as ‘Cas has a slightly ticklish asshole’ instead of ‘Cas is instinctively desperate to get fucked with whatever I happen to have on hand.’

It goes on for _so_ long, a delicious build of heat in Cas’s core as Dean devotedly soaks him with gentle, teasing licks, that Cas starts to wonder if he’s supposed to _ask_ for the rest, but then Dean’s selective mind-reading capabilities kick in and he squeezes Cas’s ass and then his mouth closes right over Cas’s slick, quivering hole, and a beat later, he starts _slurping_ at the mess he’s made.

Cas makes a noise he’s not sure he ever has, jerking forward into the pillow, but Dean just tugs him back and keeps sucking, tongue still occasionally flicking over him, and Cas swears every muscle in his body starts to shake as white-hot bliss pours across every inch of skin above it, gratifyingly obscene sounds echoing through the room as Dean grips his ass and diligently sucks at his hole.

“ _Deaaan,_ ” he moans, long and pitiful and very poorly masked by the pillow he’s frantically panting into, and Dean’s fingers flex over his ass in what he can only assume is an appreciative gesture.

“Good boy,” Dean teases, audibly breathless, because he’s clearly been too busy sucking at Cas’s saliva-drenched hole to think about getting the air he needs, and Cas doesn’t have the heart or the brain function to tell him that if he’s trying to annoy Cas, that is absolutely not the way to do it.

Anyway, he’s glad he never left the safety of the pillow, because he’s pretty sure the barrier of wet cotton possessing what Cas considers a modest thread count and Dean considers a crime against comfort is the only thing stopping him from trying to beg for more. Cas doesn’t know about a ‘good boy,’ whatever that is, in this context, but he is a good friend, and good friends don’t shove their asses back against your face and demand you fuck them with your tongue (and maybe your fingers and whatever else you want to try fitting in there), pronto.

Dean lets go of one cheek, then, middle finger stroking down Cas’s cleft, pressing down on his slick, twitching entrance, and after a brief pause, he starts gently pushing in.

The tip slides in easily, as it always does, and Dean wiggles it around a bit, Cas involuntarily clenching around it, trying to draw it deeper.

“Just to help things along,” Dean murmurs, and then he pulls it out and spreads Cas’s cheeks again and this time, the pressure at Cas’s entrance is softer and wetter, the tip of Dean’s tongue firm as it carefully starts pushing into him, and Cas doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry because Dean’s tongue spearing into him, a slow, wet slide against his clutching walls, is one of the most interesting and wonderful things he’s ever felt.

“Marry me,” he groans into the pillow, thankfully incoherent even to his own ears, and Dean hums into him, wiggling his tongue in a little further and curling.

Cas jerks, fingers desperately clutching at the sheet as his shoulders draw tighter.

Dean stays buried inside, mouth hot over his rim while his tongue darts and flexes, thrusts shallow as Cas trembles around him, and then he abruptly draws nearly all the way out, offering a few wet slurps before he fucks back inside, thrusting harder and deeper.

Cas just moans, helplessly bucking back, and in response, Dean squeezes his ass and pushes down in warning.

And Cas _should_ heed it – he’s absolutely a good friend, just one with the tiny, endearing flaw of becoming a little rude when you’re in some way fucking him to orgasm – but he doesn’t. He shifts his weight slightly, arching and pushing up on his knees a little more, and determinedly starts rocking back into every slick slide forward, Dean’s hands fumbling over him in shock.

If Dean wants him to stop, he can either tell him, or hold him down like he fucking means it.

“Jesus,” Dean pulls away with a gasp. “Fuck, you like that, huh?”

Cas turns his face from the pillow, taking a shuddering breath, walls throbbing around nothing.

“I like it better when you’re too busy to talk,” he growls back, and Dean inhales sharply, fingers suddenly digging into the meat of Cas’s ass, impossibly pulling them wider and shoving down.

“Yeah? Then be a _good boy_ and stay _put._ ”

Which – at some point, someone really, _really_ needs to tell Dean that that’s not obnoxious and provoking in the way he clearly means it to be, especially not when punctuated by an aggressive hold on someone’s ass while he furiously thrusts his tongue back inside their eager, twitching hole, but that someone is not going to be Cas and that point is not going to be now.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he moans, trying and failing to push back into it, and in the end, he ends up helplessly collapsed forward, arching pointlessly as Dean firmly holds him down and open and completely devastates him with his tongue. “Oh, God, Dean – Dean – fuck, yes, just – _fuck,_ Dean – nh -”

Dean lets go of one side, a mercy Cas immediately takes advantage of, clumsily pushing back, and a few seconds later there’s a finger unceremoniously sliding into him, tangling with Dean’s wet, clever tongue as it goes. Cas hisses and shouts, twisting in place as a ruthless campaign begins inside him, and once he gathers his bearings, he starts shoving back with gusto.

Dean just lets him, this time, squeezing at one ass cheek and fucking his tongue and finger into him like it’s his fucking job, lips soft where they still close around it all, and Cas doesn’t care about Jim or Izzy or Charlie or whoever listens in through his laptop and phone and TV or what the hell ever because holy _shit-_

Cas doesn’t care what it costs, he decides, wantonly jerking to and fro with little regard for Dean’s poor face. _He_ will be the one to put on the monkey costume and rub chocolate frosting into Dean’s skin while he wields a banana in whatever deviant manner is desired if he has to, but he’s asking for this again, damn it, as often as he can possibly talk Dean into giving it.

“Mmph – fuck, fuck, fuck – so good, Dean, it’s so good, please, I just – I need – ohhh, God, you -”

Dean moans, long and loud and right up against him, and it takes Cas a moment to realize the bed is shaking, has _been_ shaking, and not just from Cas’s determined shoving back and forth. It’s shaking because of _Dean,_ because Dean is doing something similar, something Cas can fucking _hear_ now, a distinct rustle as he rocks against the sheet, because he’s getting off, he’s eating Cas out while Cas grinds into his face and he’s _getting off,_ whether it’s because of or in spite or whatever other conditions may possibly apply, and the realization has Cas’s insides pretty much liquefying from the intense arousal that explodes through him at the concept. He clenches around Dean’s tongue and finger, forgetting to muffle a single goddamn sound into the pillow, and then Dean abruptly draws out, finger pulling at Cas’s rim as he pushes another one inside, tongue squirming in after them, and maybe the thread-count really is shitty because the pillow’s rough every time Cas helplessly shoves forward against it and he’s close, he is so fucking close, it is so _good_ and he’s _close_ and Dean is groaning and pulling at him and suddenly his tongue is gone and it’s just his finger, shoving in deep and curling as the tip starts rubbing against the magnificent spot it promptly finds and-

Cas spills, shouting his bliss to the walls as he thrashes against the bed, too mindless with pleasure to even care about what poor Dean is experiencing in the process, and a split second later, Dean lets out a low, muffled groan of his own, and then-

The bed abruptly stops shaking.

“So . . .” Dean says, once he’s settled against Cas’s side, head propped on his shoulder and hand resting over his diaphragm. “How, uh. How was it?”

Cas lets his head loll to the side, giving Dean as incredulous a look as he’s capable of, at the moment.

“Amazing,” he deadpans, and Dean relaxes, chuckling.

“Yeah?”

Cas just nods, still dazed and boneless and happy to drift through both feelings indefinitely.

Dean clears his throat, thumb rubbing over his sternum slightly.

“Maybe, uh. Maybe we should try kissing. So next time, you’ll know if it – if it bothers you. After.”

Cas thinks about that, for a moment, a flicker of doubt and hope both briefly lighting within, because Dean ate him out with more enthusiasm than Cas has ever seen in _porn,_ came just from rubbing against the sheet while he did it, and is now asking to try kissing Cas in the aftermath, and while none of that necessarily _means_ anything, Cas would be lying if he said he didn’t want it to, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t now wondering what, exactly, it did.

“Alright. Let’s try.”

It’s interesting. Cas could see how it would be gross – although if he’s willing to let Dean put his mouth there, he doesn’t see why he wouldn’t be willing to kiss him after – but mostly he’s just thinking about _why_ Dean tastes that way, about the fact that Dean _was_ willing to put his mouth there, when he literally dons a black garbage bag with armholes cut into it just to go get the mail every three days and won’t let Cas touch it for another three more, and when he considers the fact that Dean wants to kiss him at all, regardless of his motives-

It could taste like Dean shoved a carton full of rotten eggs in his mouth and possibly even vomited after it, and Cas would still be hard-pressed to commit to calling it _bad._

“I don’t mind,” he offers, when Dean pulls away, lidded gaze fixed on Cas’s, a vague question in them, and Dean licks his lips.

“Good. It – you should know. So you know.”

Cas nods in agreement, and they stare at one another for a moment, Dean’s pulse steady against Cas’s ribs.

“Speaking of-” he starts awkwardly. “I just – I want you to know I meant it. What I said last night.”

Cas hesitates.

“What part?”

“Well, all of it, obviously, I always mean what I say-” Dean pauses, frowning. “Anyway – point is – I think this was important. And if you feel comfortable with me – if there’s _anything_ you want to try, or that you’d feel better if you practiced – we should do it. Just like we did today.”

Which – Cas has half a mind to try suggesting they ‘practice’ getting married and working toward buying a house down the street from Dean’s parents, but he suspects that that might be what finally opens Dean’s eyes to what Cas is actually doing here. And even though Cas absolutely doesn’t want to take advantage or anything, if Dean’s comfortable providing, so long as he doesn’t think any of it _means_ anything . . .

Well, Cas’s feelings are his own private business, are they not?

“I-” _can’t_ _think of anything_ , he starts, because getting on a mortgage with Dean is completely out of the question, at least not without some intense long-term maneuvering, but then-

It hits him.

He has an idea – a wonderful, _terrible_ idea.

“You?” Dean prompts, oblivious to the gears turning in Cas’s head as he tries to decide if he’s really this kind of person.

“Well,” Cas starts, mouth suddenly dry. “Just . . . I’ve never . . . I’ve always wondered . . .”

“Wondered what?”

Cas swallows.

“Have you – have you ever done someone bare?”

Against him, Dean tenses.

“Uh. No? No. It – it’s too risky, with girls, even with the pill, and I never really . . . even without pregnancy scares, there’s STDs, and that’s really – that’s a pretty big deal.”

Cas quickly nods.

“Yes. Just . . . I guess – I wonder, sometimes, what it would feel like to – I think – um. I believe it’s called a cream pie?”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. “So . . . not just having someone _do_ you bare, but . . . you want someone to – to come in you?”

Cas already came, less than twenty minutes ago, but despite Dean’s slight stumble, he finds heat pooling in his gut at hearing him say it.

“Yeah,” he manages, discreetly holding his breath while he waits for Dean to process.

He’s hopeful, though; Dean’s literally licked him _everywhere,_ at this point, swallowed him down and come on him and made out and cuddled for hours, and even if he’s not interested in being Cas’s boyfriend, Cas is beginning to wonder if Dean really _would_ do anything for him.

The reverse, certainly, is true.

“Oh,” Dean says again, after a moment. “Uh. That . . . that’s kind of hard to do with a toy. I mean, I can do some research and see if we can manage it, but-”

Cas’s stomach goes cold, embarrassment abruptly and aggressively muting the hum of anticipation in his body.

“No – it – it’s fine, I was just – obviously, you and I can’t, but we were just – talking about things we’ve never tried, so I thought-”

“Yeah, no, totally, and – and I really, _really_ wanna give you that, I just – I don’t know how we can do it.”

He doesn’t know how they can do it.

He’s naked in the bed they both just came in, bare skin pressed to Cas’s as they snuggle in the afterglow, breath considerably more suspect than it started out given that he had his tongue buried in Cas’s ass less than half an hour ago, and he doesn’t know he could _possibly_ give Cas a cream pie.

“Of course not,” Cas mumbles. “It’s not possible, as you said. Anyway. We should get back to work.”

And even though he knows it’s childish, knows he’s probably guilt-tripping Dean over something only a completely selfish, unreasonable person would ask, that he’s the one who put Dean in a place where there _wasn’t_ a non-awkward way to say ‘no’-

He quickly rolls away and retreats into the bathroom without another word.

The rest of the day, Dean stews.

He gets _some_ work done, at least, enough that he’s not completely fucked, but it’s little consolation in the face of Cas’s bedroom door staying firmly shut the whole rest of the goddamn day. And the worst part is, even if he _knocked_ – what the hell is he supposed to say?

Like, _f_ _uck_ – if Cas wants something, Dean hates not being able to deliver. It makes him feel all kinds of shitty and inadequate and low, whether this is pretty much beyond his control or not. And they probably _do_ make some kind of toy, but Dean has no idea how much something like that’ll cost and then they’d have to wait for it to get there and disinfect, and that fucking door hasn’t budged since Cas muttered a ‘thanks, see you later’ when Dean awkwardly shuffled out and just – all things being equal, Dean would really, really like to do this for him, and he’d like to be able to _tell_ him that he will, but he’s just not sure he _can._

If he’s being honest, as soon as Cas said it, he kind of had an idea of how he _could_ do that _,_ but – is asking your buddy if he wants your bare cock in his ass, fucking him full of your come, really a solution?

His first instinct was _no,_ with a side of _‘really,_ you self-interested bastard?’

But now that he thinks about it – now that he’s cold (metaphorically speaking) and lonely on the sofa, working at the coffee table because something about being in a bed by himself is making him feel deeply unsettled, these days, he’s starting to wonder if he shouldn’t have stopped and worked it through before letting Cas go off thinking Dean was going back on his ‘anything you want to try’ promise about five seconds after making it.

Because now that he _does_ think about it . . . maybe it _is_ a solution. After all, Dean let Cas practice kissing him, and he certainly didn’t use a toy mouth to do that, so maybe – maybe sex is like magic, and intent matters? Maybe they won’t be having sex at all; maybe Cas’ll just be – using Dean’s cock, like any other toy, just this once, just to try something out without the pressure of a partner.

But would Cas even be comfortable with that?

Would _Dean_ be comfortable with that, if it wasn’t really sex, if it wasn’t ever going to happen again?

And oh, God, what if Cas didn’t _like_ it? What if he thought it was gross? What if it made him less interested in all the other stuff? Because they’re not partners, they’re friends, and they’d be trying for Cas’s benefit, and Cas might actually feel comfortable _telling_ Dean it was bad and why.

Dean’s not sure, the one time he actually had sex with Cas, if he could handle being told he sucked, even if that’s not how Cas meant it.

Like, he _thinks_ Cas is satisfied with all of the other things they’re doing, but – those are supposed to just be things Cas would normally be doing solo, anyway. He’s not looking at Dean as a partner, or even a partner stand-in, which means the standard has to be different, right? Whereas if Dean offers to let Cas use his dick and whatever propellant muscles lie behind it – even if it’s not sex for them, it’ll be meant to simulate a sex scenario.

Hell, what if Cas realizes, afterward, that what he _really_ wants is to be getting fucked by someone who isn’t _Dean?_

It’s a horrifying thought, and combined with his guilt over having to tell Cas _no_ when he should just be feeling lucky that Cas trusts him enough to ask in the first place-

Dean feels like shit all day.

What the hell is he supposed to _do?_

Cas is, in fact, an idiot.

Or perhaps idiot is too soft a word, too forgiving.

Perhaps what Cas actually is is a _complete fucking dumbass._

Which – what _do_ you call someone stupid enough to start having sex with someone who doesn’t even think it’s sex, and when they make it clear how badly they _don’t_ want to have sex with him, to actually have hurt feelings?

Is there even a precedent for that, or is Cas just one of a kind in this brand of idiocy?

And maybe he’s being hypersensitive, reading too much into Dean’s play-dumb response when he should have just accepted that _yes,_ of course it would be uncomfortable to have to put your dick in an ass you’re not interested in, but–

Dean’s been willing to put everything else in it, hasn’t he? He tongue-fucked Cas to mind-numbing bliss today; if giving him his cock was too big of an ask, why couldn’t he have just _said_? They talk about _everything,_ these days, and Dean is the one spearheading most of that frankness, so with so many easy, perfectly understandable explanations for why this particular thing was a little too far outside of his comfort zone, the only reason he would have pretended to miss the obvious would be if his reasoning simply boiled down to _Cas._

And yes, having penetrative sex is a big deal. Dean might have put fingers and toys and now his _tongue_ inside of Cas, but all of those things are different from one another, and even if Dean _would_ consider fucking Cas to orgasm with his dick instead, Cas jumped straight into asking him to do it without a condom. In hindsight, Cas had no business asking, and whatever Dean’s reasons are, he should never have felt pressured to provide any, because it _is_ a big deal. It was half-a-year of dating before Cas felt comfortable trying to let Bal fuck him, and the first time, he chickened out halfway through being prepped.

He doesn’t kid himself that his nerves all boiled down to being a virgin.

But even so – it’s _Cas_. Dean’s best friend. He doesn’t tell Cas he loves him in so many words, but his ‘me too’s sound sincere and he tells him plenty of other things, and if he felt like penetrating someone was an intimacy he reserved for romantic attachments, or if he was as terrified of STDs as he is of Covid, even if Cas’s odds of having either are astronomical at this point and Dean almost certainly should have thought of it _before_ he put his mouth and hands in all those places, Cas would have understood and Dean should have told him.

He didn’t, though. And that – how else is Cas supposed to interpret that? Even if he considers that it’s just a trust issue, _that_ hurts, too. And if it’s not, if there’s plenty of trust between them, if Dean saw the obvious solution – how could he not? – and still pretended not to, because he was that disinterested or even put off by the idea of fucking Cas, despite his willingness to do all these other things, then that really only leaves one explanation.

He probably doesn’t want Cas to ever think this is something it isn’t.

And that – that hurts even worse, in a way that has Cas sick and struggling to focus the entire rest of the day, and by the time Dean softly knocks and tells him dinner’s ready, Cas doesn’t even know how he’s supposed to face him.

If Dean loves him as much as he clearly seems to, and _still_ doesn’t want him-

Where does that even leave him?

Dinner’s painfully quiet, Cas’s shoulders drooping, gaze distant and – and kind of _sad,_ and if Dean thought he felt terrible before, having Cas’s big blue eyes stare blankly at him for several seconds every time he tries to make conversation just makes Dean want to exile himself to the woods, to live in shame and isolation ever after while he contemplates his sins.

“Hey,” he eventually says, once they’re done washing up and there’s this weird, awkward moment of stillness when they normally would have just gone back to bed. “Do you, uh. Do you want me to sleep in my room, tonight?”

Cas immediately recoils.

“What? Why would I want that?”

“Uh.” _B_ _ecause I’m too busy having weird,_ _unreciprocated_ _feelings for you to let you use my dick’s convenient semen-releasing capabilities to satisfy your kink exploration like a good friend would?_ “Just . . . with finals and stuff. I don’t know. Maybe it – you’d feel better without someone hovering.”

Cas’s face falls.

“Dean . . . I – about earlier – you know I don’t – you don’t owe me anything. I never . . . I’d never want to pressure you, or make you feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Dean asks, feigning confusion as best he can. “You’ve never pressured me into anything. Just . . . you know, if you want your space, I – I’m always okay with that. I understand.”

If anything, Cas looks more upset.

“Dean.”

Dean clears his throat.

“So . . . where should I go?”

In response, Cas just gives him a lost look.

“Where do you want to be?” he asks, quiet, and Dean’s heart gives a painful squeeze.

 _Wherever you are,_ he doesn’t say.

“’M kind of in the habit of going to your room. If it’s really okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Cas insists, and after a beat, Dean nods, starting past, somehow not feeling as good about it as he’d hoped.

But then Cas abruptly reaches out, gripping his shoulder, and Dean halts.

“I’m not upset with you,” he says, staring at the place where his hand meets Dean’s shoulder, brow furrowed. “I – I’m upset with me. I ask too much of you. It’s not fair.”

Dean sucks in a breath.

“No, you don’t,” he protests. “And I want you to. I want – I always want you to be able to ask me things. If there’s anyone in the world you _could_ ask for something, I want it to be me.”

Cas’s grip goes slack, gaze flying to Dean’s.

“Because you’re my best friend,” Dean adds hastily, heat rushing to his face. “That – that’s what a best friend _is._ Someone you can ask, and they know you’d never expect them to, but they always want to. For you. ‘Cause – ‘cause they care about you, more than anyone.”

Somehow, Dean swears Cas only looks more dismayed.

“I . . . Dean, you . . .” He trails off, disturbingly silent, and an awful sort of panic starts clawing its way up Dean’s throat.

“What if you used me?” he blurts out, desperate to change the subject, because that conversation feels dangerous, feels like it’s headed places he really, really doesn’t want to go, and even if this one might end up getting him there, anyway-

It’s worth a shot.

Cas blinks.

“What?”

“Earlier. I – I’ve been thinking about it all day, about how to give you what you want, and – I totally get it if it’s just too weird for you, or if you think it’d be gross, if it was me, but – you could use me. I could – come in you, or whatever. If you were okay with it.”

Cas’s brows lift.

“If I was okay with it?” he echoes, swallowing. “You – you were worried _I_ wouldn’t be comfortable with it?”

“Uh. Yeah? I mean – even when you’re dating someone, that’s kind of a big deal, so . . . no matter how bad you want to try it, I can see how you’d feel like – you know, I’m just some guy you live with,” he jokes, but Cas inhales sharply, fingers tightening on Dean’s shoulder.

“No, you’re not,” he says, and after a beat, steps closer. “It – like you said, you’re my best friend. I – I trust you more than anyone.”

“Oh.” Dean hesitates, and even though he really doesn’t want to, adds, “I – it could be lousy. You might have to try it again with someone you’re really into, to know whether you like it, or not.”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says immediately. “I’ll know. And I want to try it with _you,_ if – if you’re okay with it.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Dean clears his throat, letting out an awkward laugh. He doesn’t want to unfairly pressure Cas, but- “Though, uh. If it _is_ lousy, you know – be gentle when you tell me.”

Cas’s expression softens.

“Of course. But Dean – if I don’t like it, it won’t have anything to do with you.”

And even if Dean doesn’t see how that could possibly be true-

Cas looks and sounds so sincere, he kind of wants to believe it anyway.

“Oh. Awesome.” He licks his lips. “So . . . maybe – after our last final? So – so you can totally relax. I’ll even get out some candles or something,” he adds, teasing, but Cas lights up.

“Yes. I’d like that.” He looks at Dean for a moment, thumb slipping on his shoulder slightly, and then abruptly, he lets go.

And then he steps forward, clasps Dean’s face in his hands, and kisses him.

Dean’s heart launches into a riot, and he instinctively wraps his arms around Cas and starts kissing back.

He doesn’t know what it means, knows it probably doesn’t mean _anything,_ but Cas’s door was shut and now it’s not and Cas wants him, in some way, and this-

This is good. This is fucking _fantastic._

“We-just-made-sexy-plans kisses,” Cas murmurs breathlessly, somewhere in between, and jesus, Dean should watch his hands, because they’re about half an inch from sliding onto Cas’s ass and hoisting him onto the kitchen table for we-just-made-sexy-plans _orgasms._

“Yeah,” he manages, groping his hips a little as consolation. “Important. Good job, buddy.”

Cas laughs, a low, happy chuckle that banishes every doubt and insecurity of the day to some distant, can’t-be-fucked-to-bother corner of Dean’s mind, and you know what?

Even if Cas _hates_ it, Dean’s suddenly pretty sure it won’t change anything, after all.

He grins, and then he lifts Cas onto the table anyway, and since they’ve both got to be stressed over finals and he only made Cas come once in the last forty-eight hours-

“How d’you feel about me sucking you off before I put you to bed?”

Cas’s grip on his back tightens, and he shudders.

“How do you feel about me making you a pie for breakfast?”

Dean snorts.

“We don’t have time or ingredients for that, but how about I take a raincheck for next time we have to get groceries?”

Cas goes still, and takes so long to answer Dean pulls back, giving him a curious look.

He finds Cas looking distinctly uncomfortable, mouth partially open like he wants to say something.

“What?”

Cas just looks at him for a moment.

And then he shakes his head.

“Never mind,” he mutters, and then he pointedly pushes down on Dean’s shoulders and reaches for his waistband. “I’ll do you after.”

Which, privately, Dean thinks they’ll have to see if Cas has the _energy_ after Dean’s through with him, but either way-

He smirks, dropping to his knees, and yanks Cas’s sweats down the rest of the way, hooking his hands around Cas’s calves to tug him a little further toward the edge.

“Sounds good, buddy,” he agrees.

And then he leans forward and makes sure Cas can’t possibly offer a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **
> 
> Potential Pressure: After Dean encourages him to ask about trying things he’s wanted to, but in a setting where he’ll feel more comfortable (with Dean), Cas indicates that he wonders what it would be like to have someone penetrate him without a condom and ejaculate inside him. Dean initially declines, saying he’s not sure how they’d do that, unless they make a toy to simulate it, since he A) isn’t confident Cas would be comfortable with Dean penetrating him and B) has his own insecurities about crossing that line, even if Cas accepted. Cas immediately shuts down, assuming Dean has declined because he has a problem with Cas and perceiving it as a rejection of him, he hides in his room for the rest of the day, which makes Dean feel even worse about it.


	16. the sevenplay incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: references to past Cas/others, anal sex (bottom!cas), barebacking, brief mention of felching, cream pies, mentions of butt plugs, vague mentions of kink (roleplay, handcuffs, lingerie in a kink context, dirty talk), references to past Dean/others, a moment of discomfort due to Dean feeling like it’s being implied he’s a slut (details in the notes if you want clarification, also this author does not believe in using that word in earnest), potential violation of privacy (details in the notes), please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Sincere apologies for the wait; there's just been a lot. Thank you all very much for your patience. I hope you've all been well, and please enjoy ♡

Dean is ready and waiting with a cup of tea the next morning, a grin Cas almost wants to believe is _shy_ on his face, and as soon as Cas is at the table, Dean scoops a plate off the countertop and comes to set it down in front of him. He offers a practice good-morning kiss as he does so, warm and soft and off-center when he ducks over Cas’s shoulder, and it’s difficult for Cas to stay put and let him leave it at that.

(Shamelessly dragging Bal as an ex-boyfriend was the best decision he's ever made.)

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas smiles, then reluctantly turns to his plate instead of pulling Dean in for more thorough practice like he wants.

“Good mor-”

He freezes, and for a moment, all he can do is stare.

“I . . . didn’t know we still had granola," he finally manages, and Dean grins, clearly pleased with himself.

“Yeah, I found it in my camping backpack. There’s a small can of nuts in there, too.”

“Ah.” Cas swallows. "And . . . fruit chews.”

“Vitamin C,” Dean offers, unconcerned, and after a moment, Cas nods.

“Alright. Uh. Wonderful. Thank you for breakfast.”

Dean squeezes his shoulder, pressing another kiss to his temple, and Cas decides that while granola and fruit chews may not, under usual (sane) circumstances, be his idea of a healthy breakfast, he _does_ like them, and it’s probably fine on a temporary basis, right?

Certainly, it’s fine for this morning, Dean smiling and serving him breakfast and presumably still intending to fuck him come Friday, and since Cas’s desire not to jeopardize any of that vastly outweighs his desire for fresh groceries and food a person doesn’t have to scavenge from the back of a closet, he tucks into his granola without complaint.

Dean takes the chair opposite, foot slotting in alongside Cas’s beneath the table as he smiles across it, and Cas congratulates himself on making the right choice.

“So,” Dean says after a minute, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your last final’s on Friday, right?”

Cas’s chewing slows, granola instantly less dense in his stomach.

“Yes. Four o’ clock.”

Dean nods.

“Got it. I get done Thursday night, so I can, uh. Set things up.”

Cas pauses.

“Set things up?”

“Yeah. Candles, right? And I wanna make sure the good sheets get washed and put on the bed and – I was thinking about making a playlist or something, if you wanted music?” He bites his lip. “Do you, uh . . . do you have a preference, one way or the other?”

It takes Cas a moment to find his words, Dean simply looking back, intent, waiting for instruction, and Cas suddenly wishes it were Friday _now._

“Um. No. Music is fine, but it – sometimes, it can be nice, to focus on . . . on what’s happening, so . . .” He clears his throat. “Whatever you want? Although – all of that seems like a lot of effort.”

Dean frowns a little.

“Well, yeah, I want it to be special for you.” He blinks. “I mean – not – not _special,_ but it has to be kinda special, ‘cause you need to be able to objectively decide whether you’re into it or not – which is why it’s so good that you’re doing it with me, since partners can influence how you feel about something and I’m like – you know, neutral, but – everything else should be perfect for you. For you to decide, I mean.”

“Oh.”

“Like – if I _don’t_ do all that, and you don’t like it, it might have more to do with the, uh, the mood, instead of the thing? And then you might be hasty in deciding. But if everything’s perfect – well, you’ll know what you don’t like is the – the thing. Right? So it’s just – I think this is the best way to do this, so you can know for sure.”

Honestly, Cas has gleaned absolutely nothing of substance from this conversation other than the fact that Dean is going to put his infinite-thread-count cotton sheets on Cas’s bed and play him a carefully-curated sexy playlist while he lays him down and fucks him to completion in the flickering glow of candlelight – because he wants it to be _perfect_ for Cas – and if there _did_ happen to be some sort of platonic qualifier or caveat stated somewhere in there . . .

Honestly, he can’t bring himself to care about it.

“That makes sense,” he agrees, and Dean relaxes, smile returning.

“Awesome. So, uh – you can finish up your exam, maybe I could run you a bubble bath while I light the candles and stuff, and then . . . we’ll see how it goes. Sound – sound good?”

“Sure,” Cas says calmly, heart flailing wildly in his chest, and picks up a fruit chew. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Dean licks his lips.

“Great. Me, too.”

Cas pauses again.

“You are?”

Dean stills, brows twitching up.

“I mean – yeah? Of course. Obviously, I – I always like doing shit for you, and with you, but this is kind of – it’s an adventure, you know?”

“Ah. True,” Cas agrees, a little breathless. “For both of us, actually. You said you’d never done this before.”

Dean swallows.

“Uh. Nope.”

“I don’t know about the, um, the coming part, but – it should be different. Without a condom.”

“I – I mean, I’m a big fan of condoms, but I definitely – it’ll be cool to, uh, see what that’s like.”

They look at each other for a long, endless-feeling moment, and then Dean clears his throat.

“Gonna . . . gonna get another cup of coffee.”

Cas blinks, then turns back to his fruit chews, nodding.

“Sounds good. I might have a second tea.”

“Yeah? I’ll refill the kettle while I’m up.”

And with that, they resume their breakfast in silence.

Friday, Cas thinks, heart still pounding in his chest, can’t come fast enough.

It does, in fact, come much slower than usual.

Cas has finals to study for and, as the week progresses, finals to _take,_ but it feels like all he can think about is what happens after. It doesn’t help that they keep their distance, some unspoken agreement in an effort to preserve focus, and by the time Dean brings him a late dinner and crawls into bed beside him each day, Cas is feeling more than a little _deprived_.

Sure, Dean strips down and presses in close when it’s time to sleep, but nobody gets any orgasms, not before bed and not in the morning and not even in the afternoons, when they’re both flagging and desperate for a study break, and besides feeling _deprived_ , Cas is getting kind of . . . pent-up.

He supposes he _could_ furtively jerk off in the shower, but when he thinks about it, he has the irrational sense that he’d be betraying Dean in some way (though there’s no earthly reason for Cas to suppose either of them are deliberately waiting), and he ends up rushing through his shower (which, perhaps there should have been more than the one, somewhere in there, but sue him; it’s finals week), hitting the books, and trying, to the best of his ability, not to think about what exactly is going to happen once Friday rolls around.

Anyway, by some unexpected miracle, roll around it does (the weekdays happening on schedule _shouldn’t_ be unexpected or miraculous, but in 2020, nothing would surprise him), and Cas barely musters the discipline to check his exam work before he’s hitting submit and making a beeline for the bathroom.

He meets Dean in the hall, arms cradling a small pile of mismatched candles, and when Dean stops at the sight of him, face lighting up, it’s all Cas can do not to launch himself forward and drag Dean straight to bed.

(The fact that that single quick shower technically happened Wednesday is probably the only thing that stops him.)

“Hey! How’d you do?”

“Great,” Cas says, although he has no idea, only knows that right _now,_ he’s doing great, can barely contain his excitement for what the evening holds. “I’ll hurry.”

Dean grins, eyes twinkling.

“Well, don’t _hurry._ It’s a bubble bath, man." He pauses, then cocks his head, brows lifting. "But – don’t take your time, either, alright?”

The meaning isn't lost on Cas, and he almost laughs.

As if he’d indulge himself in the _bath_ when he had every expectation of getting out and having Dean indulge him in the bed.

He hurries anyway – though the hot water feels nice and the bubbles smell like green apples – taking special care with the things that need it, and by the time he’s rinsed, hastily dried his hair and slathered a palmful of the nearest available lotion on his body before throwing a towel around his waist and bursting out of the bathroom like a sentient pitcher of unnaturally flavored water, Dean appears to be ready and waiting, perched at the foot of the bed and watching the door with an expectant look.

“Hey, perfect timing,” he offers – and there it is again, that baffling, weirdly-compelling shyness – and gets to his feet. “I, uh, just finished lighting the damn things and hit play.”

Cas was expecting some rousing set of rock-and-roll anthems, no doubt Dean’s preferred backdrop for casual, sweaty fucking, but the enticing glow of candlelight casting attractive shadows across his bedroom walls is accompanied by something softer and quieter, though Cas can pick out a steady beat somewhere in there.

“This sounds like – indie. Vaguely electronic indie.”

Dean shrugs.

“Thought you liked that kind of thing.”

“I thought you didn’t.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Some of it’s fine. Anyway, I didn’t want the music to be too, uh, front-and-center, you know? I want you to be able to focus on – on the thing.”

“Oh.” Cas nods. “That makes sense.”

Though really, Dean could fuck him to earsplitting carousel music and Cas could probably still get off, just so long as it _was_ Dean fucking him.

He glances over Dean’s shoulder, to where the comforter is neatly folded at the bottom, Dean’s sheets snugly enclosing the mattress as promised, and beyond it-

He starts, gaze flying back to Dean's.

“Those are new.”

Dean tenses, then shoots a brief look over his shoulder.

“I – yeah.” He coughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I had a little extra time. And fabric, from the masks. Wanted to – to get you something. Just – just because."

Cas nods, moving a little closer to the bed, to where the small, square bumblebee throw pillows are tucked in with the others against the headboard, and Dean makes a face, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry. That’s actually not really sexy, is it? I just – I don’t know, it – it seemed like a good idea. Probably should have saved it for another time, huh?”

For a moment, Cas says nothing, just stares at the pillows, cheery and cute where they prop against the ones he sleeps on, and then he turns slightly, so he can look at _Dean_ instead, and he just – he wants to have sex with this person _so badly,_ and once he’s done, he wants to break quarantine and visit the occult section of the library in search of some kind of In The Event Of An Afterlife soulbinding ritual to make sure they never, ever have to part.

“No. It was a very good idea,” he manages. It comes out with only about point-three percent of the emotion his body currently contains, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind, simply relaxes, eyes warming, and then he steps a little closer, and just as Cas is wondering how those pillows are going to figure into the night’s activities, if he’s going to end up biting into one while Dean obligingly rails him like he’s wrought iron and Cas is a balcony perimeter, or if those cheerful little bumblebees will tenderly cushion his head while he’s wrapped tight around Dean like Dean’s something as expensive as it is fragile being prepared for cross-country shipment and Cas is the aggressively-layered chip dip of bubblewrap, packing peanuts, and air pouches proudly standing between him and incidental destruction along the way-

“How do you wanna do this?” Dean whispers, green eyes big and soft, and Cas’s mouth goes dry, brain function largely ceasing.

“I’m not picky,” he accidentally admits.

Those eyes blink, and then Dean lets out a startled laugh.

“Neither am I,” he chuckles, and then he reaches up and he’s touching Cas’s face and Cas doesn’t understand how, after everything they’ve done together, that tiny brush of fingers over his cheek has his heart leaping and his stomach fluttering and his body generally feeling like it’s going to come apart in ways bodies aren’t supposed to, physics be damned. “Alright. So . . . were you hoping to just, uh, get to the point, or is it okay if I-”

“Yes.”

Dean makes a face.

“Cas, you’ve gotta let me finish.”

“Well, that is the primary goal, here, but whatever you’d like to do along the way is also fine.”

For a moment, Dean sort of frowns at him.

Cas does his best to look serious, and in an instant, the laughter is back.

“ _Anyway_ – I was thinking, since this is supposed to kinda be like sex – even if it isn’t – it probably, uh. Calls for some foreplay. Just for practice," he adds quickly. "Is that – does that sound okay?”

Which, all the various tingles and palpitations and other such symptoms of his lovelorn state briefly subside at that, because Dean says it like all their other sexual activities _aren’t_ preceded by foreplay, when Cas distinctly recalls those sexual activities tending to occur after things like pilates, snuggling in front of Netflix, Dean making him tea, significant eye contact across the sofa, or a host of other things that he’s _positive_ must constitute foreplay (how else would they reduce Cas to a giant, needing ball of lust, desperate for touch of any kind from Dean?), but then he realizes Dean _also_ just said this wasn’t sex, so he probably doesn’t realize those other things were foreplay, either.

Cas sighs inwardly, looking at him for a moment longer.

The ethical thing to do, he knows, would still be to _tell_ him.

But as he also knows, the ethical thing might mean Dean _stops_ having sex with him, with or without foreplay, and since Dean’s eyes have dropped, lingering on his mouth in a way that almost certainly means Cas is about to be kissed, Cas can’t bring himself to do any of it.

“Foreplay?” he echoes distractedly, and Dean pulls back slightly, frowning.

“Yeah. Didn’t . . . didn’t Balthazar do that with you?”

Cas hesitates.

“Of course.” He steels his conscience. “We . . . we almost always made out a little before sex.”

“ _Almost always-”_ Dean starts , bristling, and then he takes a deep breath. “Christ. I don’t even know where to _start_.”

Well, the semester is over and it’s only five o’ clock, so Cas is perfectly willing to wait while he figures it out.

“What’s wrong with that?” he asks, and half of him means it sincerely. Admittedly, making out hadn’t generally been adequate in terms of getting Cas in the mood, before, but Cas is beginning to understand _just_ how many factors go into successfully enjoying a sexual encounter, and when said sexual encounter involves Dean?

Making out seems like _plenty_.

“I mean – _nothing_ , maybe, but it doesn’t really sound like the right kind of making out, and like – kissing you’s more of a fucking _prerequisite_ than it is _foreplay._ No wonder you never got around to the whole ‘desperate wanting’ thing. Dude had no idea what he was doing.”

Cas very charitably doesn’t point out that Dean appears to have no idea what he’s doing (i.e. fornicating with his roommate) either, nor does he question why Dean seems so fixated on Balthazar’s mistakes with zero thought whatsoever as to where Meg must have fit into all of this (not that Cas is keen to disparage a second dear friend in pursuit of Dean’s indulgence), because in addition to that being a pointless conversation, it would be a _conversation_ , and all Cas wants to have with Dean right now is sex.

“Well, I didn’t mind. Sex was still pleasant.”

Dean’s jaw tightens.

“Pleasant,” he repeats, like the word is dirty. “Just _pleasant_?”

Cas shrugs.

“Not amazing, the way masturbating with you is, but – I was satisfied.”

For whatever reason, Dean's ire fades, lips parting as he stares back at Cas in surprise, and Cas quickly clears his throat.

“So, um. How would you do it? Foreplay, I mean.”

Dean hesitates.

“Uh. You know, it's – I'd just . . . well, why don’t I show you?”

No mortal being has any right to feel as smug as Cas does in this moment, lest the flimsy substance of their vessel be overcome, but it can’t be helped.

He nods stoically, spreading his arms a little.

“Alright. Show me.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, and then he takes a deep breath, shoulders relaxing.

“Yeah.” He crowds in close, catching Cas’s hands in his own and bringing them to his mouth, where he brushes against them in brief, soft kisses. “I'd love to, Cas.”

And then he lowers their joined hands, tilting forward and pressing his lips to Cas’s, and really, that’s all Cas needs to shake free of Dean’s grasp and wrap his arms around him.

“Foreplay’s great,” he mumbles, just for the sake of encouragement, and Dean huffs.

“Your ex is a piece of a shit,” he mutters back, and then he kisses Cas a little harder, palms settling at his sides, warm as his thumbs draw over the ridges of his ribs. “Remember, don’t think about it. Just relax.”

So Cas relaxes, slips his fingers in Dean’s hair and loses himself to the kiss, and _God_ , what a kiss it is, slow and intent, Dean’s hands roving over his bare torso all the while, stroking over the skin and feeling out the shape of him like they mean to commit it to memory.

“Little slippery,” Dean whispers, and Cas hums in question. “You moisturize?”

“Hastily,” Cas agrees. “I imagine it failed to absorb.”

“Yeah? Thought I told you not to hurry, Cas.”

Cas grips him a little tighter.

“Finals wore me out. I didn’t think you’d care how well I’d applied my body cream.”

Dean just tilts his head, breathing in deep.

“ _My_ body cream,” he corrects him, lips barely grazing Cas’s jaw. “That’s definitely mine.”

“We’ve been in quarantine for over a month and you won’t let me go to the store or order off the internet,” Cas murmurs back, suppressing a shiver as Dean’s palm draws down his spine. “ _Our_ body cream, Dean.”

Dean laughs, although Cas isn’t necessarily trying to be funny, and then he shifts, kissing Cas again.

“Okay. Our body cream,” he acknowledges, and then his hands slide down, thumbs rubbing at Cas’s hip bones as he lightly squeezes. “Can I take your towel off, Cas?”

“Of course,” Cas says, because _what else would he say_ , and Dean smiles at him, squeezing again before slowly lowering himself to his knees, holding on to Cas for balance and never once breaking eye contact.

Cas keeps his hands firmly in Dean’s hair and stares back without shame.

His breath hitches when Dean finally lets go, a single finger tucking into the band of the towel and drawing a curious line along the skin just underneath it, and Cas watches, mesmerized, as Dean leans forward and kisses his navel.

There’s a brief spike of concern as he realizes he neglected to wash and inspect his bellybutton tonight, preoccupied with thoroughly cleaning other areas that would hopefully be drawing Dean’s attention as the evening proceeded, but Dean doesn’t linger, just tips his head and kisses one of Cas’s hipbones before turning toward the other, and with that taken care of-

He slowly pinches one side of the towel and, brow knit in concentration, just as slowly begins easing it free.

Cas tightens his grip in Dean’s hair, pulse accelerating, and he should probably be embarrassed by what already awaits Dean when at last, those careful fingers part the towel, but he can’t help it.

All he is is _excited._

Dean makes an approving sound, hands hovering in the air, holding the towel open as he surveys what he’s uncovered, and Cas clears his throat.

“This is effective foreplay,” he notes seriously, and Dean snorts, abruptly dropping the towel. Cool air whooshes across Cas’s bare ass, and he twitches forward just as Dean catches his hips again, grinning up at him.

“You have _no_ idea,” he drawls, sending a burst of delight streaking through Cas at the implication, but then he leans forward and gingerly licks over the head of Cas’s mostly hard cock and Cas is delighted for an entirely different reason.

He opts to communicate this with a soft groan, gently tugging at Dean’s hair to draw him closer, and Dean’s mouth immediately slips over him in response, slick heat enveloping his cock. His knees go weak, Dean’s grip tightening to help keep him upright and steady, and Cas helplessly nudges forward, desperate for more.

Dean moans in what Cas optimistically assumes is appreciation, and then he sinks further down, cheeks hollowing around Cas’s shaft in a way that makes his uncertain joints tremble.

“Dean,” he whispers, and Dean slides his hands forward, cupping Cas’s ass. “Oh, God – Dean, your mouth.”

Dean slowly draws off, lips tight around the head, then smoothly glides forward again, tongue dragging wetly along the underside of Cas’s dick and palate soft where the tip bumps against it, his hands tight over Cas’s ass all the while.

Cas takes a shuddering breath, clutching at Dean’s hair, and when Dean tugs at him, pulling him into the next stroke, he doesn’t hesitate to comply, lightly thrusting while Dean sucks and gropes and effectively drives him out of his fucking mind, as he is, by some happy trick of fate, wont to do these days.

Too soon, he pulls off, and Cas, lost to the sensation of Dean’s perfect mouth and perfect tongue and perfect hands and perfect aura of goodness and beauty, can’t hold back a sound of protest, instinctively trying to guide his head back.

“In a sec,” Dean pants, though he briefly ducks down again, spit-slick lips mouthing over him. “Want you in bed.”

And with that, he stands, promptly ducking in to kiss Cas, breathless and messy, and then one of the hands on Cas’s ass become an arm, hooking beneath him and lifting, and a few seconds of fumbling and stumbling later Cas is being dropped back onto the bed, sprawling wide as Dean crawls right after him.

“Comfy?” he asks, eyes searching, and while yes, the sheets are soft and the pillows are soft and actually, Cas landed at a suspiciously suitable angle, he really couldn’t care less about any of it, just so long as Dean keeps touching him.

“Very. What now?”

Dean grins, cheeks flushed.

“Foreplay part two.” He pauses, cocking his head. “Fiveplay?”

Cas shrugs.

“I’m fine with either. Or both.”

Dean snorts.

“Yeah?” he asks, reaching for Cas’s thighs. “You’re really gonna let me foreplay you and fiveplay you at the same time?”

Dean’s just being ridiculous, because in addition to being mind-alteringly _hot_ in bed, he is (occasionally to Cas’s chagrin) _fun,_ and for Cas to feel a sharp twinge of arousal at this nonsense is absurd.

It happens anyway.

“So long as you don’t think less of me in the morning,” he returns, as evenly as he can manage, and Dean continues easing his thighs apart, settling in between them with a smile.

“Let me sixplay you and I’m gonna think you’re a _god_ in the morning.”

Cas huffs a laugh, and Dean’s eyes twinkle as he lowers himself forward, dropping a kiss to Cas’s jaw and moving down, mouth sweet as it smoothes across his throat and shoulder before ultimately brushing over his chest, towards an unsurprising but nonetheless thrilling destination.

What _does_ surprise him is the way Dean’s hand wraps around his cock at the same time his tongue flicks out, teasing at the nipple, and Cas jerks into his grasp with a soft sound.

“Relax,” Dean reminds him cheekily. Cas just sinks his hands back in Dean’s hair, pulling in encouragement and admonition both, and Dean keeps working, lapping wetly at the hard nub as he loosely jerks him, pace unconcerned and unhurried in the way that Cas supposes categorizes it as ‘foreplay’ instead of outright ‘sex.’

(Really, does it matter?)

Eventually, Dean shifts, moving to the other side, Cas twitching unabashedly beneath him, and by the time he’s nipped and sucked and played to his heart’s content, Cas is leaking all over Dean’s hand, skin feeling too tight for his body.

Dean lifts his head, studying him with dark eyes, a flush staining his cheeks as Cas blinks back.

“Is the fiveplay over?”

Dean licks his lips.

“I don’t know. I was kinda planning on kissing the rest of you.”

Cas nods.

“That sounds nice, although – you’ve kissed a lot of me. I think I get the gist.”

Obviously, Cas would love to have Dean kiss the rest of him, but he hasn’t come since Monday and he knows this night ends with Dean buried deep inside, spilling into him, and he’s fairly confident he can maneuver the rest of those kisses at a later date, assuming what they’re about to do doesn’t significantly change anything.

And even if he can’t, Cas likes all their other foreplay just as well – likes anything that means Dean is close, paying attention to him, and intends to remain there for the immediate future – and as long as he gets that, he thinks he’ll be content.

Dean lifts a brow.

“Yeah? Ready for sixplay?”

“That depends on what it is.”

“Well . . .” Dean smiles. “Hand me the lube?”

Cas reaches behind him, fumbling beneath the pillow stack, and thrusts it toward Dean once he finds it.

“Sixplay may commence,” he deadpans, spreading his legs for emphasis, and Dean just sort of pauses for a moment, smiling.

“I, uh. I think we’ve done sixplay before, to be honest.”

They have, but prior experience does nothing to dim Cas’s ardent enthusiasm for it, whether you call it ‘sixplay’ or ‘assisted masturbation’ or even ‘one lovesick dumbass getting expertly fingerfucked to delicious, earth-shattering orgasm by the person of his dreams’, and he smiles back, drawing his knees up slightly.

“I do enjoy it,” he points out, and the smile in Dean’s eyes grows, warm as he settles a hand on Cas’s shin.

“And I always think you’re a god the morning after,” he jokes, squeezing. “Wake-up blowjobs count as worship, right?”

Cas arches a brow, nudging the hand holding the lube bottle with his foot, insides clamoring in giddy disarray.

“A lot of what we do in the morning counts as worship,” he says, then pointedly adds: “Gods can always use more, though.”

Dean just laughs.

“Dear Castiel, who art about to be in Heaven,” he starts, uncapping the bottle with a wink. “Hallowed be thy name . . .”

Cas laughs too, delighted and breathless and perhaps a little bit _happy,_ Dean chuckling along with him, and the only reason he stops is because Dean finishes coating his fingers and after that-

The sixplay begins.

Honestly, the only other time in his life Dean’s been this nervous before sex was the first time he did it.

(Well, and there was that one time in that dark, creepy lake in Texas, but since he spotted an alligator across the way before anything interesting happened, he’s not counting it.)

(He can’t believe Beth tried to tell him to _ignore_ it. Like, even if it really was just a harmless vegan alligator, there’s a certain quantity of teeth that can be in the near vicinity of a guy’s dick before he simply refuses to take it out, and an alligator pushes the count _way_ over.)

Anyway, it’s just – there’s a part of Dean, will probably always be a part of him, that’s still kind of hopeful. That thinks maybe, with enough time, with the closer they get, with Dean becoming a sort of expert at making Cas come . . .

Maybe he has a chance? Not _now_ , obviously, especially not with everything else going on, but – in the future. Maybe once things have settled down, Cas will want to, too, and he’ll think, ‘on second thought, why go out and look for a partner when there’s a satisfactory, known quantity right here in my bedroom?’

That’s not _that_ far-fetched, is it? Dean’s aware the advice is usually ‘if it hasn’t happened already, it’s not going to,’ but he thinks that’s an oversimplification, and if he wants his shot with Cas -

He has to show what he can bring to the table.

And if it turns out the _actual_ sex he brings isn’t any good, even if this time is just for the sake of helping Cas try something he can’t do with a toy, then that ‘satisfactory’ gets an ‘un’ put in front of it and the moment it’s safe to go looking for something else?

Cas _will_.

Which means this is pretty much Dean’s big chance to prove himself, and if he fucks it up . . .

“Dean?”

Dean swallows hard, immediately relaxing his grip on Cas’s thighs, because leaving bruises somebody didn’t enthusiastically ask for _definitely_ makes him a crap lover.

“Yep, sorry, just – uh. Buildup is important.”

Cas squints.

“Alright. That’s fair, but – there’s been a lot of buildup already, I think.”

“Yeah, well, your ex trained you to some pretty low standards.”

“Possibly, but – that didn’t really seem like buildup.” Cas tilts his head. “You just . . . froze.”

Yeah, because there was making out and touching and dumb jokes and slicking up his fingers to slowly work Cas open, the way Dean likes to think he’s gotten pretty damn good at, and it was great, it was _awesome,_ Cas was squirmy and noisy and _Dean_ was kinda squirmy and noisy, too, and then there was more making out to try and keep quiet and then Cas was saying he was _ready, Dean_ and Dean was scrambling for the lube again and _finally_ , it was tim e, Dean had been thinking about this moment all fucking week – had been thinking about this moment for _two years –_ and suddenly-

“We don’t – we don’t have to do this, if it’s awkward.”

“It’s not,” Dean says quickly, because it’s _not,_ it’s just – it’s a big deal, in a way that these things usually aren’t, and part of Dean can’t help but be kind of . . . well, _worried_. “I just – you know, this is the new part. The, uh. The important part. I don’t want it to be disappointing for you, you know?”

Cas looks surprised.

“Dean . . . you could never disappoint me.”

Dean blinks.

“Because it’s just something to try,” Cas continues quickly. “I don’t – I don’t have expectations, one way or the other.”

“Oh.”

Still. Cas can say that, but if he wants to try this bad enough to ask a friend to do it, even though Dean’s kind of gotten the impression that he doesn’t really do casual stuff . .

He must be hoping it’ll be something special, right?

Cas suddenly props up on his elbows, starting to pull his leg up so he can shift away.

“It’s fine, Dean, we-”

Dean instinctively tightens his grip, holding Cas’s bent knee in place.

“No, I – I’m okay. Just . . . I wanna make it good for you.”

Cas’s lips part, his blue eyes widening a fraction.

“I . . . thank you. I’m sure it will be.” He swallows. “But if you don’t think it will be good for you – we don’t have to. “

“No, no, it’ll be great for me,” Dean says hastily. “I mean, it – it’s you. My best friend. Doesn’t get more amazing than that, right?”

Cas hesitates, and Dean tenses, because if he’s reading that look right, it means Cas _wants_ to say something, but maybe doesn’t think he should.

“What?” he asks, trying not to panic, and after a beat, Cas shakes his head.

“Just – you’re right. It doesn’t.” He clears his throat. “You use my toys on me, and I love it. If you use – well, _you,_ on me, it should be even better. Because I love you. Right?”

Dean is not a nervous teenager about to be deflowered on prom night, and because of this, getting told he’s loved shouldn’t make a lick of difference to his performance anxiety.

The tension bleeds right out of him, anyway.

Cas loves him, says so every night, soft in Dean’s ear when they’re cuddled up and falling asleep, and while sure, he just says it the way you’d say it to any friend you were as close to as he is to Dean, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.

It doesn’t change the fact that, whatever overconfident dickbags come around trying to bat out of their league somewhere down the road, Dean’s here now and Cas already loves him, and that-

That’s gotta count for something.

And actually, the way he says that, the way he says it’ll be _better,_ if Dean’s using himself, instead of making it sound like Cas is just showing up for the nearest trustworthy semen-producing body he can get his hands on-

It kind of makes it sound like having it be _Dean_ counts for something for him, too. Like the fact that he does love Dean is a factor here, when Dean just thought it was mostly – well, fantasy-fulfillment and convenience.

And that, right there – that counts for a _lot._

He takes a deep breath and nods, slowly pushing Cas’s legs a little further back.

“Right. Exactly.” He offers Cas a small smile. “And, uh – me, too. Obviously.”

Somehow, Cas’s eyes soften even further.

“Obviously,” he agrees, not a trace of irony to it, and reaches up, touching Dean’s cheek. “Now sevenplay me, Dean.”

Dean blinks.

And then he starts laughing, and then he shifts onto one elbow, pressing in close, chest brushing over Cas’s, and when Cas automatically pulls him down for a kiss, he returns it with ease, that telltale heat flooding back through him.

“I’m gonna,” he whispers, reaching between them, deliberately brushing his knuckles over Cas’s cock as he takes himself in hand. “Gonna sevenplay you six ways to Sunday.”

“Not the kind of tonguetwister a person wants to experience in bed,” Cas mutters, but he punctuates it with a warm, eager kiss, heels coming to rest at the small of Dean’s back, body wrapping him up, and suddenly all that heat is kind of making Dean _melt_.

“Oh, you want a _tonguetwister,_ now?” He licks across Cas’s bottom lip, fighting a stupid smile. “That’s a lot of kink for one day, Cas.”

“What?”

Dean lets the smile free, guiding himself to Cas’s entrance, to where Cas is wet and loose and _ready,_ ready for Dean to push inside, for Dean to use _himself_ to fuck him, to come inside and fill him up the way Cas has never asked anyone else to.

“I’ll do it if you want, though,” he offers, the both of them flinching as the head presses up against Cas’s rim, slipping slightly as Dean lines himself up. “Never been picky about eating pie before this, and I’m not about to start now.”

Cas stares blankly for a moment, and then his breath hitches.

“You’d – after you – you would _seriously_ -”

“I’d do anything you wanted me to, Cas,” Dean admits, helplessly honest and hoping Cas will just take it at its sexy face value, but in case he doesn’t, Dean just barely nudges forward, shuddering at the slight resistance before Cas relaxes and a moment later, Dean starts slipping inside.

Which – Dean’s felt this, before, Cas hot and tight around his fingers, flexing around them while he strokes in and out, but as enjoyable as that is, it’s nothing compared to the way Cas feels around his cock, to the scant inch of pressure around the head, the rest of him aching to join it, to slide inside and just bury himself, held close and tight and basking in it, in being _loved,_ in it finally being _Cas_ , and even though he’s suddenly afraid of what might be showing up on his face, he forces himself to meet Cas’s eyes, to check in and be sure.

Cas is already looking back, pupils wide and dark, cheeks red and mouth open, and Dean just about swallows his own tongue.

“O-okay?” he chokes out, heart drumming away inside his chest. Cas looks – _so_ good, and he always does, but this seems different, somehow; Dean’s not just doing stuff to him, isn’t just lying back and letting Cas do stuff to him in turn, and even if all of that stuff-doing involves a lot of touching and kissing and never leaves Dean feeling even remotely like it’s _just casual,_ this seems – the way Cas is looking at him, the way what they’re doing is _it_ , for both of them, the main event, just him and Cas tangled up and making out and getting off without any awkward angles to be found is just – it’s so -

Cas reaches up, gripping his shoulders, and pulls slightly.

“Yes,” he breathes out, hips twitching up, and Dean shudders as he’s drawn further inside. “More than. I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Cas has been looking forward to trying something he was never confident enough to ask a partner for; he’s been looking forward to forgetting school exists, to lying back and relaxing and having someone wind him down from the stresses of the whole semester; he has not been looking forward to a romantic evening in, making love on Dean’s vastly superior bedsheets, and the dumbass, off-center muscle thwapping away behind Dean’s sternum shouldn’t be behaving like he has.

“Same,” Dean whispers, voice just barely not failing him, and he rolls his hips, sinking in a little deeper.

Cas’s lashes flutter, though he keeps his eyes on Dean’s.

“I, um, I like the candles. And the music. Thanks for doing all that.”

Dean smirks.

“What about the sheets?”

“Mine are perfectly fine, but yes, yours are nicer.”

“Yours are shit, Cas. Soon as it’s safe to go out, I’m finding you some better ones.”

Cas watches him for a moment, quiet and breathless as Dean pulls back and rocks forward, inching inside. He’s pretty sure it’s unnecessary, both because of Cas’s composure and because experience tells him Cas is _great_ at this, but sue him.

There’s no reason to think this’ll happen again, and Dean kinda wants to take his time.

“Do you think we’ll keep sharing?” he murmurs, still watching, and Dean pauses, arms trembling a little from the effort of holding himself up, holding himself back.

“Sharing?”

“A bed.”

“Oh.”

Dean has no idea how to answer that.

“Uh. Well . . . unless you decide you want your space back.” The corners of Cas’s mouth tug down, a near-grimace crossing his face, and relieved, Dean presses on. “And – if we move in with Mom and Dad after our lease is up, we’ll have to share, anyway.”

“Oh.” Cas blinks, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders slightly as Dean takes a breath and slips a little deeper. Cas is so fucking _hot_ inside, and Dean knew that, has touched him there countless times, but none of that prepared him for _this_. “Is that the plan, then?”

“I . . . if you want it to be?”

“Well, I don’t think you want to live with Gabe,” Cas says, and Dean snorts.

“I really don’t.” He shakes his head slightly, withdrawing before he eases forward again, Cas’s foot doing a weirdly-soothing stroking thing over one of his asscheeks. “It’s a full, though, so you don’t have to worry about sleeping in my armpit on a twin.”

“I’d share an inflatable mattress on the floor with you, even if it was a twin,” Cas counters. “I’m not worried about it.”

Which, Cas sure as hell knows how to make a guy feel wanted, doesn’t he?

The trouble is knowing how exactly he _means_ it.

“Anyway,” Cas says, shifting slightly under him, and a low-key lightning storm of sexy tingles starts touching down all over Dean’s body.

He swallows a whimper.

“Mhm?” he manages, and Cas takes a deep breath.

“We can just use yours. If you’ll be with me until it ends.”

“Huh?”

“The lease,” Cas suddenly says, eyes flicking away. “Until the lease ends. I’d . . . hate to subject you to insufficient, um, threadcount. In these times of crisis.”

Dean is _halfway inside of Cas,_ and Cas just confirmed they’d be moving in with Mom and Dad and sharing Dean’s childhood bed – which, oh fuck, now Dean’s thinking about being inside of Cas in his childhood bed, and he’s pretty sure that shouldn’t be any particular turn-on (not to mention this may be the only time the whole ‘inside’ thing happens), but home is safe and familiar and Cas is kinda safe and familiar and if you combine the two with sex (or not-sex, as the case may be), which is maybe more hot and exciting than safe and familiar, Dean’s pretty sure he knows _exactly_ what weird thing he’s gonna be thinking about next time he has to masturbate on his own – and seriously, Dean doesn’t care what sheets are on the bed, just as long as that bed is daily endgame for him and Cas for as long as he can manage it.

“Oh. My sheets.” He swallows. “Yeah. We should. I, uh. I’m not going anywhere. And I know you like ‘em, too, even if you’re too cheap to buy better ones.”

Cas bites his lip, and then the heel at Dean’s back digs in, urging him forward. He follows ( _obviously_ ) and Cas briefly closes his eyes, something that looks a little like ‘bliss’ flitting over his face.

“There were other things I wanted to spend my money on, Dean,” he murmurs, rolling his hips, and Dean pushes in a little more in answer.

(This is happening. He’s inside Cas, not a stitch of clothing or latex or anything but Dean’s awkward, carefully-concealed feelings between them, and Cas’s hips are starting to do a thing and Dean’s hips are gonna do a thing and maybe it would be okay, just this once – just because Dean himself is gonna be thrusting into Cas, Cas sweaty and clinging and thrusting right back, waiting for Dean to come deep inside him – to call it sex, without any of the usual qualifiers and fine print.)

(Maybe?)

“Like what?” he manages, giving a short thrust forward, and Cas sucks in a breath.

“Sex toys are ridiculously expensive.”

“Oh. Like – h-how expensive?”

Cas is panting, hips rocking a little more insistently, and oh, God, Dean is so fucking close, just a little more and he’ll be there, and then they’re gonna do this, they’re seriously gonna-

“The cat toy was a hundred and twenty.”

Dean freezes.

“A hundred and – jesus _Christ_ , Cas, how good can it feel?”

Cas gives him an amused look.

“Very. Mostly, though – it’s cute.”

“It ends up in your _ass,_ buddy, it’s not like you get to _look_ at it!”

Although – it is really fucking cute. Dean loves that goddamn cat toy, and he’s not even the person it’s supposedly for.

Still, a hundred and twenty dollars for a toy when Cas has lube and some perfectly good – and Dean means _perfectly_ good – fingers?

Is _anything_ that cute?

“So? It’s more exciting to use if it’s cute.” Cas shifts again, and Dean hisses. Cas briefly looks startled, then-

Satisfied.

“You like it,” he says lowly, and Dean blinks, struggling to catch his breath, to not just surge the rest of the way forward, plaster himself to Cas and blindly fuck into him until neither of them know which way is up. “I can tell how much you like it.”

“I – I – yeah, it – I mean, you feel really – really good, and I like you, s-so of course I like it,” he stutters out, feeling vaguely caught, and Cas stills.

“Oh.” Dean has no idea what the hell that look is, he’s so fucking turned on and also kind of embarrassed and actually a little confused, because there’s a lot of talking but also his dick is in Cas’s ass and this isn’t going anything like how he imagined, even if it’s still awesome, and- “I – I meant the cat toy. You like the cat toy.”

Dean stares back.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah? I do. It . . . it’s really cute. Probably, uh. My favorite one you’ve got.”

Cas swallows.

“Worth one-twenty?”

“If it makes you happy? Definitely.”

“It makes me very happy.” Cas pauses. “Especially when _you_ use it on me.”

Cas is gonna be the death of him. Dean’s so fucking in love and he’s pretty sure it makes him more of an idiot every day, and either his heart is going to aggressively punch its way out of his own goddamn chest like it’s the 22 nd  century and he just Ginny Weasley’d an alien spaceship’s Chamber of Secrets, or his brain cells are going to wither and die from overstimulation until he perishes in their (hopefully) still-shared bed on his awesome sheets, and it will all be Cas’s fault.

“Oh. Sorry the cat toy can’t come in you,” he jokes, and Cas smiles.

“I’m not. Although-” He wiggles again, and yup, there go a few more brain cells, stars dancing across Dean’s vision to herald their journey into the sexy beyond. “At this rate, you won’t either.”

Dean huffs.

“Hey, you started it.”

“In what way did I-”

And really, Dean doesn’t have words to describe the sound Cas makes as he thrusts the rest of the way inside, pressing flush against him as Cas gasps and Dean groans and actually, maybe it wasn’t Cas who made that sound.

“Yes,” Cas whispers faintly, and Dean just nods his agreement to whatever that means, lungs struggling for air. Did sliding home inside a warm, tight space _always_ feel this good, and it’s just been so long he forgot, or could Cas’s body actually have magical properties of the sort Dean sometimes wonders about and wouldn’t necessarily be surprised to find out existed (at least not in the near six feet of smooth skin and lean muscle and devastating hipbones sprawled underneath him), because Cas feels _incredible,_ not just where he’s squeezing at Dean’s cock, but where their chests are right up against each other and where Cas’s thighs grip his sides, everything skin and skin and more skin in a way Dean can’t usually manage if he’s trying to maneuver toys or hands or whatever else, and Cas is staring up at him with wide, vaguely shocked eyes and Dean’s staring back and holy _shit-_

Part of Dean desperately wants to move, and part of him just wants to collapse into Cas and live in this moment forever.

“Move,” Cas breathes, a breath Dean can feel in his chest, pushing up against him. Dean nods blankly and draws back, a long, slow slide that has him snapping forward on instinct, desperate to recover the sensation of Cas wrapped all around him. “Oh, fuck.”

Dean gulps, pausing.

“Good fuck or bad fuck?”

“Best fuck,” Cas mutters, legs tightening around him, and before Dean can try and parse that, he pushes his hips up, grinding onto Dean’s cock without breaking eye contact, though his lashes flutter. “Oh, God. You – it’s so hot, Dean.”

And much as Dean would like to interpret that as ‘wow, Dean, you fucking me is thrilling and sexy (and I am suddenly consumed by a lust for you that will inevitably manifest in some sort of devoted lifelong commitment),’ he’s pretty sure Cas is literally talking about the actual heat being generated by Dean’s cock.

(It still kinda makes his stomach flip.)

“Yeah. Noticed that.” He pulls back again, rolling forward a little more gently this time, and Cas inhales, eyes still fixed on Dean’s. “Feels, um. Feels really good. What – what about you? Is it good?”

Cas takes a deep breath, fingers twitching over Dean’s shoulders, hole clenching around Dean’s cock as he withdraws, pulling at him in a way that produces a tight, dragging sensation, and he can tell by the way Cas relaxes for him to push back in again that it was deliberate.

He’s felt Cas do that, with his fingers and with the toys, seen the barely-there changes in expression as he does it, as he helps Dean make it good for him, but Dean feeling it around his dick when he sees it is completely different.

“Sevenplay is fantastic,” Cas says, low and rough. “Where do I leave a review?”

Dean’s stomach fucking _flutters_ , utterly shameless, and he clumsily maneuvers his hand up, smoothing Cas’s hair back as he looks down at him, still moving in shallow thrusts, Cas’s body working in time, hips rolling and muscles contracting at all the right points, like his body’s singing a slow, dirty song and hitting every note.

Balthazar was a fucking _moron._

“Here,” Dean says, and tilts his head, kissing him. “ _Way_ easier to use than Yelp.”

And really, it’s not a joke, because Cas is welcome to use him all day, every day, and Dean will never try and make it anything but easy for him.

“I don’t think you review this kind of thing on Yelp,” Cas murmurs, though he tips his chin up and kisses back like he’s somehow drinking Dean in.

It takes Dean a moment to steal the words back.

“’Course you do. Why else would they call it Yelp?” he asks, and then he punctuates it with a sharp thrust forward, hard enough that he feels Cas slide up the bed a little.

Cas arches up with a grunt, shuddering, a little less control in the way he clamps down around Dean this time, and Dean grins.

“Like that.”

“I did not yelp,” Cas grits out, pushing up against him, cheeks flushed. Dean’s close enough to feel the warmth radiating off them, and God, isn’t that something? “I appreciated that, though.”

So Dean expresses his appreciation for Cas’s appreciation by doing it again, and when it’s clear it was just as nice the second time, he continues to oblige, and before long, they’ve settled into a sharp, steady rhythm, Cas’s bedframe creaking and the music barely audible beneath the sounds, soft grunts and barely coherent moans of _Dean_ and _please_ and _oh, God, harder,_ and Dean’s not any better, keeps staring into Cas’s eyes because Cas is staring back, can feel every word puff out against his chin, thinks he might be saying some stuff, too, stuff like _feels so good, Cas_ and _amazing, so fucking amazing_ and _fuck, yeah, just like that, buddy, perfect,_ and there’s this distant thought, desperately clinging to orbit in the furthest reaches of his brain, that thinks this isn’t how friends usually do this, is it, that they shouldn’t be gazing into each other’s eyes, face to face and periodically sharing desperate , messy kisses while Dean pounds into him and tells him how good it feels and Cas goes wild underneath him and pleads for more, caressing his back and shoulders like he can’t get enough of simple _touch,_ like every brush of fingers draws power and ecstasy right from Dean’s skin, but maybe it’s just the kind of friends they are, maybe this is the only way for Dean and Cas to _do_ this, and when Cas fumbles a hand between them and starts jerking himself, the other tangling up in Dean’s hair as he earnestly whispers _close, I’m close Dean,_ Dean forgets all about it.

“You still wanna do this, right?” he gasps out, though he doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t think he could if he tried, not without Cas telling him to. The pillows are the only thing keeping Cas in place, at this point, the bed shuddering with every hard drive forward, and Dean is going to be sore as hell tomorrow, but Cas feels so goddamn _good,_ zero resistance as Dean fucks into his loose, wet hole, the heels at the small of his back unmistakable encouragement to keep at it, and all he wants to do is bury himself inside for good and wait for his soul to leave his body.

“Do – do what?” Cas moans, twisting a little, and Dean kisses him again, just because.

“Have me come in you,” he whispers, nose brushing Cas’s. Cas jerks, yanking at Dean’s hair, and Dean briefly shuts his eyes from the feel of it, from the feel of Cas losing it all around him, surprised he _doesn’t_ come then and there.

“ _Yes_ ,” Cas hisses. “Do it – wanna feel it, Dean, do it, come on-”

Dean swallows the rest of the words, something reckless and insane rising up inside him, but he does nothing to fight the madness, just presses Cas down and slams into him, fast, ruthless strokes as Cas’s free arm wraps around him, holding tight, and when Cas’s movements start stuttering, body convulsing around Dean in that telltale sign of what’s to come, that’s it. Dean crashes right over the edge, finally falling forward, burying his face in Cas’s neck and groaning out his pleasure as he grinds forward and empties into him.

He thinks Cas shouts his name when he comes, hot and wet between their stomachs, but Dean is in a daze, Cas close and warm and Dean’s whole body melting into bliss, and he doesn’t know how _Cas_ feels, but Dean-

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to do this with anyone else again.

“So . . .” he starts, once he’s caught his breath and managed to lift himself away enough to look at Cas again, though his arms shake a little at first, strangely weak as he tries to support his own weight.

(He should probably roll off of Cas altogether, but he doesn’t really want to go any further away than he has to, right now, and he’s just hoping Cas is too worn out to push it.)

Cas swallows, gaze shifting as he blinks, like things are only just now coming back into focus.

(That’s a good sign, right?)

“Hm?” he mumbles, lips just barely moving, and Dean clears his throat, trying for as much nonchalance as he can manage.

“Verdict?” He lifts his brows, attempting a hopefully casual-looking smirk, although he kind of suspects his face is doing what it did the first time Dad let him do a repair by himself on Baby and he was waiting for his work to get checked over, sure he was about to be told he was never getting this car after all.

“Verdict?” Cas echoes, brow creasing.

Dean swallows.

“You know. How . . . how was it?”

“Oh.” Cas blinks again, pausing for a lot longer than Dean is comfortable with. “Good.”

Dean can’t help it.

He can feel his face fall.

“Oh. Okay.” He hesitates. “Like . . . you mean the – the creampie part?”

“Oh. No, um – all of it.” Cas nods slightly. “All of it was good.”

There are gross, creepy invertebrates populating Dean’s chest and stomach, all of a sudden, and they’re clearly pissed about finding themselves there, if the way they’re aggressively squirming around is any indication.

“Right. Uh. Good.”

And he knows he should leave it there, knows that the weird blankness and the lack of breathless smiles and soft touches is a pretty clear indicator of how Cas probably felt about that particular experiment, but-

“Like – just good? Or-”

“More than,” Cas interrupts, and Dean has no idea whether to be reassured by the speed of that response or not.

“Okay. Maybe . . . on a – a scale of one to ten?” he tries, because there’s something deeply wrong with him, and it’s probably for the best that a deadly international pandemic means he no longer goes among other humans.

Cas is terrifyingly silent for a moment, long enough that at least two of the invertebrates just murdered each other somewhere underneath Dean’s diaphragm.

“Like . . . what, maybe a – a five-and-a-half? Six?” he adds hopefully, although honestly, he’s pretty sure he’s just pressuring Cas to _lie_ to him, at this point.

Cas’s gaze flicks to the side, lips twitching downward.

“Uh. No.”

“Ah. Okay, well, creampies-” _and Dean Winchesters, apparently,_ “-aren’t for everyo-”

“A ten,” Cas interjects again, frowning, and Dean just barely doesn’t swallow his own tongue. “It was definitely a ten.”

Dean gives him a searching look, wanting to believe it, but at least clever enough to have questions.

“Are you sure? You, uh. You’re usually . . . after I make you come, you’re usually more . . .” he trails off, and Cas tilts his head.

“More what?”

Dean hesitates.

“Responsive?”

Cas’s expression clears.

“Ah. You mean functional.”

“What?”

Cas takes a deep breath, shifting, and then there’s an arm sliding around Dean’s back, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t usually make me come like that,” he says softly. “It was . . . intense.”

“Oh.” Dean nods slowly, watching Cas watch him, conscious of Cas’s fingers, lightly stroking at his side, and fuck it. Cas _might_ be lying, but it’s a lie Dean’s desperate for, so he’ll take it. “Okay. Awesome. So . . . experiment success?”

Cas smiles slightly, opening his mouth, and the invertebrates start teleporting back to whatever hellish dimension they materialized from.

Until Cas freezes, that is.

Dean stills, too, looking down at him in alarm, and Cas blinks back, mouth snapping shut as the invertebrate portal swirls menacingly within.

“What?”

Cas swallows.

“It was. Just . . . maybe I shouldn’t have done it,” he says, and Dean just barely stops himself from flinching before Cas continues. “Now I want to try other things.”

“Other things?” Dean echoes, struggling to keep up, and Cas nods, looking away.

“Yeah. Like . . . a plug.”

Dean stares.

“A . . . plug.”

“To keep y-the. The come. Inside me. Until the next time.”

The portal zaps into nothing, and Dean’s whole mouth goes dry.

“Oh.”

“Do you think it’d feel different?” Cas asks quietly, meeting his eyes again. “To have someone do you while you’re full of their come?”

Dean just looks back, still reeling.

“I, uh. I don’t – I don’t know. Do . . . you think it would?”

Cas lifts his shoulders slightly, watching him.

“I don’t know. I . . . I’m kind of interested in finding out.”

Dean nods slowly, heart rate climbing.

“Okay. And . . . do you . . . uh. Is that . . . would you want me to help you try that?”

Cas shrugs again.

“That seems like a lot to ask.”

And sure, if Cas was any one of his other friends, Dean might agree with that, might think laying one of his longtime buddies out and fucking them full of his come, only to plug them up and go back for round two a little while later would be crossing a _major_ comfort boundary, but this is _Cas,_ and if that’s really what Cas wants Dean to do . . .

Cas _isn’t_ one of his other friends. What they’ve got is special, and if Cas wants something?

Dean’s not gonna tell him ‘no.’

“Nah,” he says, struggling for casual. “That – I don’t think that’s a lot. I mean . . . I’ve got nothing else to do. I think . . . I’d definitely rather you, uh, try stuff when you’re comfortable than . . . uh. Yeah.”

Cas nods, tongue darting out to run over that full, soft pink bottom lip.

“What about you?” he asks, gaze intent. “Isn’t there – isn’t there anything you want to try?”

Dean blinks, trying not to let that shiny lower lip distract him.

“Uh. Well, I’ve definitely never done what you’re suggesting.”

“But I mean something that _you_ want to try.”

Honestly, aside from a definite appreciation for various costumes, sex in his car, and pleasant stuff happening to his dick, Dean’s fantasies are fairly straightforward and his most taboo desires only made so by the fact that they’re about people (or rather, a person) he’s not allowed to have. Which isn’t to say he’s not up to trying new things – it doesn’t take a whole lot to pique his curiosity – but until it comes up, he just . . . he’s kinda good.

He thinks about Cas’s awesome toybox, though, and feels abruptly vanilla and ashamed. Dean’s a simple man; he just – he _likes_ sex, and one of the reasons he likes it is the social aspect even more than the fantasy aspect, and while he likes to be really, really good at what he does and get a super awesome, sexy mood going – his bedroom life just doesn’t get that interesting.

“I mean kinks, too,” Cas says suddenly. “Not necessarily just positions.”

“Kinks,” Dean echoes, frantically trying to think of some. If Cas asked what ways Dean has dreamed about fucking him for the last couple of years (no really, let’s go down the list), Dean could talk about his kitchen fantasies and his sofa fantasies and his shower fantasies and his hallway-wall fantasies and even his _bookcase_ fantasy, where Cas comes so hard he causes a dent in the wall where the top of the bookcase slams into it while two whole shelves full of paperbacks rain down around them, but Dean suspects the appeal of all of those fantasies is the whole ‘finally getting to be with Cas when The Thing happens.’

But fucking Cas against the bathroom wall, the one opposite the mirror so Cas can look over Dean’s shoulder and see himself come – and ultimately tear the towel rack right out of the drywall when he crosses the finish line – isn’t necessarily a _kink_ (although maybe fantasies about Cas’s brute strength and powerful, mildly destructive orgasms are kind of a pattern), and even if it is, he can’t _admit_ it.

“Like . . . lingerie. Dirty talk. Handcuffs.”

“Uh. I’ve done all that,” Dean admits, preoccupied trying to think of something that doesn’t make it painfully obvious what his deepest desires center on. “With a few people, actually.”

Cas’s expression does something tense and funny, at that, but then it smoothes out and he shrugs, looking off to the side.

“Ah. Well, if all your fantasies have been satisfied elsewhere, I suppose there’s nothing I can do.”

Dean immediately makes a face, finally detaching from his thoughts.

“I didn’t say _that_ -”

“It’s fine.” Cas sits up, firmly pushing Dean off and turning away to start getting out of bed while Dean looks on in a stupor. “It doesn’t really matter, obviously, I just don’t want to be the kind of friend that takes advantage.”

“Right, but-”

“Anyway, that was thoughtless of me. You have an _unusual_ amount of experience, after all; no doubt you’ve done everything under the sun.”

Dean blinks, feeling vaguely like he just got called a slut.

“I actually haven’t-” he starts, because he _hasn’t –_ he’s only twenty-two, for God’s sake, and he’s had a GPA and a classic car to maintain! – but Cas is easing out of bed and striding toward the door, like he’s not even going to let Dean participate in cleanup, and while Dean’s both relieved by the lack of awkwardness to his gait and distracted by the sight of his own come sliding down Cas’s thighs, he feels like this is definitely Not Good.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Cas interrupts. “I’ll hurry, though.”

He moves into the hall, and Dean sits up, worried.

“Take your time, but-”

The bathroom door slams shut.

Dean’s frustrated by the stonewalling, for a few minutes, not to mention a little panicked, because while that wasn’t technically sex, it was still an intimate encounter, if a friendly one with an impersonal goal in mind (supposedly, anyway), and having his partn- his _friend_ walk away like that after an intimate encounter just – it doesn’t sit right.

Of course, lying in bed and listening to the shower run, Dean eventually organizes his thoughts enough to realize that no, it doesn’t sit right, and that’s because yeah, he did something wrong.

More than just _wrong._ He did something really fucking insensitive and thoughtless, too busy angsting about his own fucked up feelings and completely failing to consider _Cas’s_.

To consider why Cas wanted to do that with him in the first place.

Cas _trusts_ him, and that’s especially important here, because Cas doesn’t have the confidence to ask for things he wants, or to try new things, with someone else.

And Dean making it seem like he’d gotten all those things out of the way, no big deal?

Cas is probably feeling lousy and left behind and like he has more reason than ever to feel insecure about his experience.

So, yeah. Dean’s an inconsiderate clod.

 _However_ , he’s a _teachable_ inconsiderate clod, and just to show how considerate and sensitive he can be, when Cas ignores his soft calls and gentle knocking, Dean very considerately picks the lock on the bathroom door and very sensitively lets himself into the steam-filled room to say his piece.

“Dean?” Cas says promptly. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, uh, you didn’t hear me knock,” he lies.

A long silence behind the shower curtain.

“Indeed,” Cas says flatly. “Did you need to use the bathroom?”

“No, I just – I kinda wanted to talk to you.”

“While I’m in the shower.”

Dean hesitates.

“Well, you were asking about things I wanted to try,” he jokes, and after a moment, Cas pokes his head out of the curtain, a deep frown on his face, not that Dean’s really having an appropriately contrite response to it on account of all the wetness and soapy hair and wetness and wow, Dean should suggest they masturbate in the shower together, preferably with him on one end watching while Cas stands in just the right spot with the spray raining down on h-

“Are you serious?”

Dean blinks, trying not to look down and see what else might unintentionally be appearing behind the curtain, because really, now is not the time.

“What?”

“Is that something you want to try? Dirty-talking to someone while they masturbate in the shower?”

Dean opens his mouth, then shuts it.

Thirty seconds ago, it wasn’t, but now that Cas is wet and dripping and asking about a sexy thing, Dean’s brain naturally doesn’t see a problem with jumping on board.

“I want you to talk back,” Dean blurts out, and Cas’s suspicious look turns surprised, curtain slipping out of his grasp.

Dean determinedly keeps his eyes on Cas’s face.

“Talk . . . back?”

“Yeah. Tell me what you’re doing. How, uh. How it feels.”

Cas blinks, a drop of water narrowly missing his eye as it slides down his cheek.

“Oh. Like . . . phone sex. But through a shower curtain.”

“I – uh. Actually, yeah, that – that is what that sounds like.”

Cas hesitates.

“And you’re not just saying that.”

Dean sighs, reluctantly looking away.

“Look. The stuff you suggested – it’s kinda tame, actually. But not having done it doesn’t – that doesn’t mean you’re somehow less, or that any partners you have in the future are gonna notice or care.”

Cas stares at him for a moment.

Then the shower curtain abruptly shuts.

“Well, we can discuss your shower-talking thing later. It’s too soon right now.”

Dean makes a face.

“I just – I’m just saying, none of that’s a really big deal. But honestly, I haven’t had that many longterm relationships, either, Cas, and you don’t exactly get kinky with one-offs, for the most part.” Dean clears his throat. “There’s a lot of stuff I haven’t done. Hell, most things I probably can’t even _think_ of. It’s not like I could watch a ton of porn while I was living at home, and I’ve been busy getting my degree, and-” _and when I can, now I just like to think about being with you._ “And . . . if I’m coming up blank right now, it’s not because I’ve done a bunch of shit. It’s because I _haven’t._ Because I’m too – naive, I guess. Or uncreative.”

Cas says nothing for a moment, but Dean can hear the water running in a steady pattern, suggesting he’s not moving, either.

“Like, you listed most of the kinky things I _have_ done,” Dean continues. “And if you really feel like you wanna catch up, fine, we can put you in panties and cuff you to the bed and I can tell you how hot you’re gonna look when I make you come all over yourself, but seriously. It’s not a competition, Cas. It’s about getting to try stuff you _want_ to try, so you can decide if you like it and so you – so you can be confident. That – that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? So if you’re not interested in wearing women’s underwear or getting tied up or having some assclown mimic bad porn while you’re just trying to have an honest orgasm-” Dean is relieved to hear a snort from behind the curtain “- then let’s just . . . go with what you know you do want. You want to know what it’s like to have - _someone_ do you bare a couple times in a row, so I’ll help you try it. And if I think of something _I’m_ too embarrassed to ask a partner for – I’ll tell you.”

Another long silence.

“So you weren’t serious about the shower version of phone sex.”

Dean hesitates.

Obviously, he wouldn’t say _no_ , but he thinks Cas will be able to tell the difference.

“No. I mean, it sounds hot, but – I hadn’t thought of it before.”

Another pause, and then Dean hears Cas take a deep breath.

“I’m not your partner,” he says, and Dean experiences a small twinge, though he ignores it. “But – I could – I could wear a cowboy hat. And boots. If you wanted.”

Dean’s heart sort of missteps.

“What?”

“The fantasy you told me about. You said you’ve never had the nerve to ask for it. Maybe it won’t be the same, if it’s with me, but-”

“But it doesn’t seem fair,” Dean blurts out, and Cas falls silent for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t give you yours.”

“My what?”

“Your fantasy. About – about wanting someone, and getting them, and having it be . . . you know. Soul-leaving-your-body amazing.”

“Oh.” Dean waits, and then there’s a shift in the rhythm of the spray. “That’s alright. Honestly, Dean, I . . . I don’t really ever think about that anymore. And I think – what _you_ do for me is worth much more.”

Dean has no idea how to interpret that.

“I’d like to stop letting water run down the drain, though,” Cas continues, barely audible. “We can work on a plan for these things when we’re both clean.”

“Uh. Okay. Sounds . . . sounds good.”

Dean stumbles out of the bathroom and back to bed, heart racing, and tries to remind himself that Cas _is_ less experienced than Dean would have thought, and because of that-

He probably has no idea what it sounds like he’s saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPOILERS **
> 
> Dean feeling like he’s been called a slut: Without thinking, Dean indicates that he has experimented with mild kinks with a variety of people; Cas is clearly jealous, and concludes that Dean has no need for anything from him, then, and that Dean is ‘experienced’ and has no doubt ‘done everything under the sun.’ Obviously, regardless of Dean’s actual sexual history, he is not a slut (whatever that means), Cas doesn’t think that, and no one has a right to shame him for it, but this is Cas’s kneejerk response to a hurtful reminder and the suggestion that he might not be able to offer anything in turn (though that doesn't make it okay).
> 
> Potential Violation of Privacy: Upset due to their conversation, Cas retreats to the bathroom for a shower and locks the door. Dean, thinking he understands why Cas is upset and also wanting to resolve things promptly, picks the lock and lets himself in when Cas fails to answer his knocking. This is played comedically and ends well, but no matter what you think needs resolving, if someone removes themselves from a situation and makes it clear they are not ready to communicate with you, that should be respected (and a locked door should always be respected). That said, Dean felt that that was a bad place to leave things following a sexual encounter – for both of them – and it is also true that one should try to make sure all parties are comfortable and taken care of following intimacy, both physically and psychologically, so his motives were not entirely selfish, nor were his concerns invalid.


	17. interlude #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mentions of various kinks/sexual positions (restraints, double penetration, semi-public sex, cockwarming), brief joke about defusing a bomb, reference to dropping an infant (no injury sustained), references to/brief fantasy about gagging, light roleplay (cowboy fantasy), riding, bottom!Cas, discussion of houseplant pests (including roaches), roach version of the ‘do you want ants’ joke from Archer, mentions of rough sex, mentions of edging, mentions of coming untouched, please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> I hope you’re all doing well, and thank you very much for reading ♡

“Bal, I need your help.”

“Well, I don’t know how much help I’ll actually be, but I’m certainly all ears, Cassie. I haven’t had a good shag since lockdown started, and what with classes being out, there’s nothing to fill the hours between all the porn,” he adds sadly, and Cas pauses, momentarily stricken with sympathy. Two months ago, he would have rolled his eyes, because no one _needs_ sex, and while that absolutely remains true, now that he’s having it constantly and the only thing that could possibly improve it would be if it were sandwiched between conversations that contained sentences like “Isn’t it nice that we’re dating, Cas?” and “I can’t wait for you to be my legal forever-boyfriend” and “You called all our friends to tell them that you, Castiel, and I, Dean Winchester, are in an exclusive, committed relationship that I have no intention of ever ending, right?” or even “Hey, how do you feel about making a trip to the grocery store for some milk and salad ingredients?”, the thought of going without seems _horrible._

If this is the way Bal and other people feel about all the sex they have, Cas doesn’t understand how they get anything besides their Dean-equivalent _done._

“I’m . . . sorry to hear that,” he says, sincere. “This might not be a, uh. Timely request, then.”

A pause, and then:

“ _Oh?_ ” Balthazar sounds delighted. “Cassie, do you have _sex_ questions for me?”

“I do,” Cas agrees, steeling himself. “I need to know different ways to have someone penetrate you – with their dick, specifically – that might reasonably classify as a kink. And wouldn’t have been standard in a sexual relationship.”

There’s a stunned sort of silence.

“Good God, Cassie,” Bal breathes. “You started _sleeping_ with him!”

Literally and figuratively, every night and day, practically, but Bal doesn’t need to know that.

“Beside the point,” Cas says neutrally. “Now. Are you going to help me or not?”

“Of course I’m going to help you! You’re coming to your ex-boyfriend to figure out how to have sex with your new one – _clearly_ , you need all the help you can get.” Balthazar sighs. “I should have guessed the man had no imagination. All that . . . _flannel_.”

“I like his flannel,” Cas protests. “It makes him – soft.”

“That makes one of you, then,” Bal returns breezily, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“ _Anyway –_ he’s not my boyfriend, Bal.”

“Not your – bloody hell,” he says, and this time, he sounds dismayed. “Oh, Cassie. Love. Tell me you didn’t.”

Cas makes a face.

“Look, we’re just friends.”

“And yet you, my shy, seldom-plucked flower, are sleeping with him.”

“Masturbating with him,” Cas corrects, though he’s well-aware of how absurd it sounds, at this point. “It’s – convenient. Especially since we’ll be moving into his parents’ house, and we’ll have to share a bed, anyway.”

“I _beg_ your par-”

“Anyway, it’s _fine_. The point is, it doesn’t count as sex as long as it’s kinky, so _please._ Focus. Answer the question.”

“Doesn’t count as – what on earth does is that supposed to _mean_?”

“It means you should tell me about kinky ways to get fucked, Bal.”

There’s yet another silence, and then, to his surprise, Bal chuckles.

“Well, alright then. Whatever makes you happy, darling. Now, let’s see . . .” He hums. “There’s the good old tied-to-the-bed and such, or even – have you got a spreader bar, Cassie?”

“A what?”

“Ah, never mind. Anyway, you could sneak down to the garage and have him bend you over the hood of that pretty car of his – shouldn’t be too much traffic, nowadays, and even if there is, that’s what corners on the basement level are for.”

“Bal. We’re not f-masturbating in public.”

“Ah, I forgot that about you. Flannel on the inside, shall we say?”

“I’m not-”

“He could put you up on the photocopier?” Balthazar chuckles. “Hit scan and fax it to your moth-”

“ _Bal_.”

“Fine, fine. What about a double penetration toy? And you know, there’s all _kinds_ of fun positions, Cassie. You’ve got the Lawnmower, the Tilt-a-Whirl, the Cat in the Hat, the Witch in the Wardrobe, the Cowgirl’s Aunt Bess, the-”

“You’re just saying things now,” Cas interrupts darkly, and Balthazar laughs.

“Well, half the best things I ever did came about from just _saying_ something and trying to figure out what it would be.” He pauses. “Now, the Witch in the Wardrobe sounds like terribly good fun. Definitely ought to be something a little dirtybad, don’t you think? You can take the boy out of the closet, but you can’t take the closet out of the boy?”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“Cockwarming!” Bal says quickly. “Sit on it while you watch some evening telly, you know, ask him to fuck you just a bit every scene change or something without letting either of you come until, say, episode 3?” Bal pauses. “Speaking of – _Episode_ _III_ was _terrible,_ Cassie, I couldn’t get it up for a full week after I had to watch it.”

Cas sighs.

“Bal. Goodbye.”

“No, no, no, I’m trying to help you. Oh! Wait, there’s one thing even _I_ have never so much as _thought_ about doing!”

Cas pauses, curious, because Balthazar’s thought about doing just about everything a human being could conceive of, assuming he hasn’t actually _done_ it.

“What?”

“Well,” he says, tone suspiciously reasonable. “You _could_ ask him to lay you down and stare soulfully into your eyes while he sensually made love to you for several hours before you came; that would be _incredibly_ kinky, at least for a pair of friends to do, anyway, so you could certainly give it a g-”

And even if a part of Cas wouldn’t object to that, either, Dean might have questions Cas doesn’t think he’s ready to have answered, and so-

Cas hangs up.

(And then he starts making a list, anyway.)

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom,” Dean says, shifting as he settles into the sofa. “How’s it going over there?”

“Oh, hey, Dean! Things are going pretty good. I mean, I think your father jumped off the ladder so I’d have to wait on him, but-”

“ _Did not! And I miss being able to get my own damn beer. You drink half of it before it even gets to me.”_

“Heresy,” Mary says breezily, and Dean can hear the smile. Honestly, it makes him feel a little homesick, but they should all be together by the month’s end, if everything goes to plan, and he knows he can stick it out till then. “Anyway. We’re healthy and mostly sane, over here. What about you guys? Is Cas doing better?”

Dean glances toward the bedroom door on instinct, though he knows Cas is taking care of neglected calls, too, now that finals are over. He’d be more worried about it, after the brief weirdness following the maybe-sex yesterday, but Cas wrapped around him and said he loved him before bed and then he gave him a _really_ enthusiastic good-morning kiss in the kitchen this morning when he came for tea and breakfast, so Dean’s pretty sure it’s not just an excuse.

“I think? He seems like it. I’m just, uh. Trying to keep him busy, you know?”

“Not much else you can do,” she agrees, then pauses. “And . . . you? Hanging in there okay?”

Dean blinks, startled.

“Uh, yeah? Yeah, I – I’m doin’ pretty good. You know, it’s – obviously, sometimes it’s . . . whatever, but – you know. I’m okay. We’ve got each other.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

Dean nods, forgetting she can’t see him, then clears his throat.

“Speaking of which – actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you guys about that. About Cas and me.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, and Dean is just about to check the screen and make sure the call didn’t drop when he hears an abrupt shuffle, followed by what Dean almost thinks is a hissed _John! John, it’s happening!_

With a brief cough, Mary returns to the phone, this time clearly on speaker.

“Sure. Your father’s right here, too.”

“Oh, awesome. Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, son. What’s this big news of yours?”

“Well, I know, uh. I was gonna head home after the lease was up, and I’d still like to, but – I was thinking, if it’s okay with you guys . . . maybe I’d bring Cas with me?”

To his relief, his mother doesn’t even hesitate.

“Of course, Dean. We’d love to have him.”

Which – he was pretty sure, but you never know, and Cas was right.

Homesick or not, he really, _really_ doesn’t want to move in with Gabe.

“Awesome. Thanks. I mean, he could go live with his brother, but – with everything going on, and since he _is_ still having a hard time, I think – I mean, we’re best friends. We should probably stick together.”

For some reason, a lengthy silence ensues.

“Best friends,” John echoes blandly, and Mary takes a deep breath.

Still, nothing follows.

“Uh. Guys?”

“Right. So . . . when you said . . . oh.”

“What ‘oh’?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Anyway. Of course. Should we make up the guest room, then?”

Dean recoils.

“What? No! Why would you make up the guest room?”

“Oh. So you _are –_ we shouldn’t make up the guest room?”

“Well, no, Mom – it’s for _guests._ I want him to feel at _home._ ”

There’s another long silence.

“Alright,” Mary finally says, weirdly cautious. “Just – maybe we can make it Cas’s room, then – get all his things moved in, so it feels like home. Unless there’s a reason you two would be better off sharing?”

Dean frowns into the phone for a moment, confused, and honestly? A little upset.

“Of course there is,” he insists, tugging a throw pillow into his lap and absently wrapping an arm around it. “Come on, we – we talked about this.” He glances over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “He’s doing better, but he’s – you know, he’s kinda fragile right now. I just – I really think he’ll feel a lot better if he stays with me.”

Yet another silence, even longer this time.

“Uh. Son,” John starts eventually. “Thing is – he’ll be sleeping next door to you, like he does now, so it shouldn’t be a big change. And . . . don’t you think he might want his own space?”

“For _what_? Anything he can do in his own room he can do in mine.”

More silence follows, and Dean wonders if maybe they’re making lunch or trying to assemble a bookshelf or otherwise multitasking while they’re on the phone. It doesn’t _sound_ like it, but for all he knows, they’re squinting at the laptop, trying to figure out their taxes.

He clears his throat.

“Anyway, me and Cas already talked about it, and he said he’s good to share, so – for now, let’s just stick with that.”

Technically, Cas said he would share a twin inflatable mattress on the _floor_ with Dean if that’s what it took, but that feels too complicated to explain to his parents, so he decides to just keep it to himself.

On which note-

“But, uh – speaking of Cas having a hard time, and stuff.” He coughs. “We – I kind of – he needs a lot of, uh, reassurance, okay? So – so you can’t tease him about it.”

“Reassurance? And of course we wouldn’t tease him, Dean. I can’t believe you think you even have to _ask._ ”

Dean grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe not _him,_ but – you can’t like, tease _me_ about all the cuddling, okay? It’ll make him self-conscious, and I don’t want him to feel like he can’t ask for what he needs.”

The silence is _so_ long this time, Dean is positive it disconnected – that, or his parents are defusing a bomb at the kitchen table.

“Christ,” John eventually mutters. “Remember that time you were holdin’ him while you put the star on top of the tree and you stumbled?”

“John,” she hisses.

“Just saying, kid dropped like a damn box of giftwrapped coal, and even if they said he was fine-”

Dean frowns.

“Uh. What are you guys talking about?”

“Sam,” Mary says quickly. “Sam just texted that you can put kale in cupcakes.”

“Ew,” Dean exclaims, making a face. “What the hell is the point?”

“Well, both of you can have some very strange ideas sometimes,” she mumbles, and then clears her throat. “At any rate, we promise not to tease either one of you, and Cas is always welcome here. Just . . . let him know the guest room’s all his if he wants it.”

“Yeah, or if there’s something he doesn’t wanna do right in front of his damn college bud-hrgnh,” his dad grunts, and Mary hums.

“Just let us know when you’ve got a better idea of when to expect you, or if you want me to come by and help you get things cleaned up and ready to move,” she continues smoothly. “John would, but he did that incredibly stupid thing and now his leg’s broken, so-”

“It wasn’t _stupid-_ ”

“ _So_ he’ll have to sit this one out, but really. I’m happy to come help.”

Dean smiles.

“Will do, Mom. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Take care, sweetie. You and Cas both.”

“And double-check that he seriously wants to share a room with a guy he’s not even- _ow_! God _damn_ it, Mary-”

“We love you, Dean. Talk to you later!”

“You, too, guys. ‘Bye.”

He’s not sure how long Cas’s calls will take, but he makes himself comfortable on the sofa while he waits, surveying what he can see of the apartment. They haven’t collected _too_ much stuff since they moved in, but Dean knows from moving out of dorms that you can’t tell how much you have until you have to pack it up and haul it somewhere.

Which – it’d be fine, if they were just moving a few blocks away, but home is a couple hours out, and while they can at least make the trip without having to stop, Baby isn’t big enough to take it all at once. Normally, Dean’d just rent a truck, but-

He frowns, clutching the throw pillow a little tighter.

Well, anyway – he’ll figure something out. Besides, they should probably get rid of some crap; Dean doesn’t mind making two trips – he’ll have to get gas, but if he wears a mask and gloves and slathers his hands in sanitizer immediately after, the danger should be minimal – and if they can give away or throw out enough stuff, maybe that’ll be all it takes.

It’s not like Mom and Dad will want them filling the place up with all their random garbage, anyway. Dean’s pretty sure there’s a spare corner of the basement for household goods and anything Dean and Cas’ll want when they find another place together (assuming they find another place together, but since Dean can’t really handle thinking they _won’t,_ that’s where he’s at), but they’ll be sharing his old room and the rest of the house is obviously already furnished, so it’s just as well they pack light.

Abruptly, Dean stills, fingers curling into the pillow as realization sinks in.

They’re going to be sharing a _room_.

In an otherwise full house.

A house that’s full because it has his parents and little _brother_ in it.

Which _wouldn’t_ be a problem, if they were less close friends and all they were going to do was snuggle down to sleep at night, but Dean’s pretty sure they’re about as close as just-friends-who-are-maybe-actually-dating-without-meaning-to-date can get, and even if they’re both less stressed once they’re safe at home with family – or quasi-family, in Cas’s case – and they don’t feel the need to masturbate quite so often-

Cas is still going to want to _sometimes,_ right? He wouldn’t just – go back to taking sexy solo showers just because they had more roommates, would he? Like, obviously, if that’s what makes him the most comfortable, Dean’s not going to argue, but the whole reason they do it together in the first place is because it – it’s reassuring for Cas, to have Dean be there, and it’s more convenient, to have Dean be the one touching him when he is, right? Cas won’t – he won’t suddenly start turning down Dean’s help once there are other people around, will he?

Dean sits in uneasy silence, clutching the pillow tight as he tries to picture sharing a room – sharing a _bed –_ with Cas and not being allowed to touch him anymore, with having to go morning to night without any of the awesome practice kisses he’s already kind of gotten used to, and fine, maybe he should have prepared himself for that, since as far as he can tell the only ‘practice’ Cas needed was practice forgetting his piece-of-shit ex, but-

Dean thought he’d have more _time._

Cas will still want to cuddle, at least, right? Just so long as the rest of the family stay true to their word and don’t make a big deal out of it, he couldn’t possibly cut Dean off completely. Cas is – he _needs_ that contact. Dean can tell. There’s no way you could expect him to just suddenly start going _without,_ just because they have an audience.

Is there?

He swallows, finally turning to look over his shoulder, to the neatly shut door to Cas’s bedroom. Maybe Cas _would_ rather sleep in the guest room – make it his own, like Mom suggested. Maybe once there’s plenty of people around, a whole house to roam – one that’s unmistakably a _home_ – Cas won’t be feeling quite so lost and anxious, and he won’t need Dean to be there holding him together.

Maybe he won’t need Dean, period.

Dean looks at the door for a long, long moment, just thinking, and eventually-

He comes to a decision.

Cas has finished his phone calls and moved on to reviewing his . . . to-do list, as it were, when suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.

His stomach flips, and he quickly shuts the laptop on the google search of ‘spreader bar’, nudging it aside.

“Come in,” he calls, awkwardly clasping his hands together in his lap. It’s ridiculous, after everything they’ve done together – after they have, unexpectedly, devolved to rampant, unbridled fornication all over the apartment – but Cas just has to think about last night, about Dean’s skin pressed to his, Dean’s breath hot against his lips as he stared down at Cas and moved inside him and he just-

The door opens, and Cas’s vessel struggles to keep solid form at the sight of him.

“Hi,” he says stupidly, a little awed. Really, last night changes nothing. To Dean, whether they snuggle and rut against each other or Dean gives Cas his toys with playful, determined focus or even licks inside his hole like it’s a filthy pane of glass and his tongue is a remarkably dedicated window washer, loathe to leave even a single inch anything less than sparkling – it’s all the same.

But to Cas, even if he can objectively recognize the meaninglessness of all the sex they have – to the point that Dean doesn’t even _think_ of it as sex – he can’t objectively forget the way Dean looked at him, the way he kissed him while he pushed inside, the way he _did_ push inside, again and again and again, like he was rendered as helpless to the pleasure of it as Cas was, and even if Cas always fruitlessly imagines some extra layer of connection and significance to everything they do-

Last night, he could have sworn Dean thought they were having sex, too.

“Hey,” Dean says, running a hand through his hair, and the embarrassing flutter in Cas’s stomach quietly settles into stillness at the agitation in the gesture. “I – we need to talk.”

The flutter disintegrates, shocked as it turns to nothing, and Cas’s stomach pitches in its wake.

“Talk?” he echoes, dread filling him. “About what?”

Dean looks pained.

“About – what we’ve been doing.”

It’s a long moment before Cas can bring himself to speak.

“You mean – not going to the grocery store?” he asks. It’s a pointless hope, but he can’t stop himself from trying, and his heart sinks when Dean just makes a face.

“What? No. And we don’t need to go to the store,” he adds, then shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “Look – we, uh. We’re moving back home, soon. I mean – to my parents’ house.”

All Cas can do is stare, thinking numbly of the list tucked in his laptop and waiting for Dean to come right out and say it won’t be necessary, after all.

“I just – I think . . .”

Cas braces himself.

Of course.

Of _course_ it wouldn’t last, and it certainly wouldn’t ever turn into what Cas has always been hoping for.

Dean takes a deep breath, and Cas just barely doesn’t close his eyes, like he’s waiting for a real, physical hit.

(It might as well be.)

“I think – we should practice staying quiet.”

Cas stills.

“I – what?”

Dean tucks his hands in the pockets of his sweats, shrugging.

“Just – you know I love hearing you, and it – it’s hard for me, too, but I don’t want – like, we’re moving in with Mom and Dad, right? I mean, _my_ mom and dad, not – not our shared mom and dad – obviously, we’re not brothers, and the only way they’d be _your_ mom and dad is if we got – well, a-anyway, yeah, the – the point is, we’re gonna be – and I think – this – it’s all really healthy, right, for both of us, but I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable, ‘cause then you might feel like it’s _not_ healthy, and then you might – so maybe while we can, we should practice just kinda keeping it down when we masturbate, so it’s not – you know, so we don’t-”

Cas scrambles to his feet, heart thudding wildly.

“You want to practice masturbating quietly so your parents don’t hear us?”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut, and he gulps.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“And that’s all you came to talk to me about?” Cas insists breathlessly, advancing, and green eyes widen.

“I – yeah? What – what else would I talk to you about?”

The grocery situation, actually, but a long list of vitamin deficiencies are the least of Cas’s concerns right now, because Dean-

Dean isn’t asking to stop.

Dean, actually, is coming into Cas’s room, tense and awkward and fidgeting, because he wants to make sure they can _keep doing it._

Cas has him pressed to the wall in moments, blood hot and fast in his veins, satisfaction already sparking in his gut.

“That’s a good idea,” he says lowly, and Dean swallows, lips parting in surprise. “If we’re noisy, they might ask us to stop.”

“Oh. Uh – yeah. That – that, too.”

“I really, really don’t want to stop,” Cas adds seriously, and Dean’s breath hitches.

“You don’t?”

Cas almost laughs.

He _never_ wants to stop, and Dean’s an idiot if he could somehow imagine otherwise.

“No. Do you?”

“No,” Dean says, immediate, and Cas watches the word leave his lips with pleasure. “No, that – that would kinda suck.”

Cas nods, unable to stop himself from reaching out, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, seeking skin, searching out a promise that Dean will always let him.

“Alright. Then – how are you going to keep me quiet, Dean?”

Dean blinks, then lifts his brows.

“Keep you – dude, I’m not going to _make_ you,” he protests, frowning a little. “I thought we’d both just, you know, try not to be so noisy?”

Cas pauses.

“Uh. Right.”

Dean frowns harder, reaching up to touch his cheek.

“Seriously. I just meant we should try to keep it down. I-I’d never force you, Cas. Even if it turns out you can’t, I’ll just – have that awkward talk with my parents. Or – hell, I can even take off the drywall and look into soundproofing the room so you don’t have to. But if you think I’m going to start – I don’t know, shoving you facedown into pillows or stuffing ties in your mouth to make _sure_ you keep quiet, don’t. I wouldn’t do that to you, and definitely not just to save me an embarrassing conversation, okay?”

For a long moment, Cas just looks at him, wondering how Dean can be so, so clever, so wonderfully attuned to Cas’s pleasure at times, and yet-

“Okay,” he agrees, a little woodenly, visions of choking on blue silk while Dean grips the back of his head and hisses _not a sound, Cas_ right in his ear regrettably falling by the wayside. “Thank you. I . . . appreciate that.”

Dean pats his cheek, relaxing, and Cas resigns himself to taking comfort in that, at least, in the warmth in Dean’s eyes as he looks back at him.

“So . . . uh . . . I didn’t really get to ask, earlier.”

Cas rubs his cheek against Dean’s hand, resuming his own exploration of Dean’s stomach as he hums.

“Ask what?”

Dean arches into the touch a little, lashes fluttering.

“Uh. You know. H-how you feel.”

Cas leans in a little closer, eyes drifting to Dean’s mouth as he gently caresses that slight, soft layer over Dean’s tummy.

“How I feel about what?”

Dean clears his throat, fingers slipping over Cas’s temple and into his hair.

“About – yesterday. The – the thing we tried.”

It takes Cas a moment to formulate an answer, because he’s pretty sure the truth will result in Dean awkwardly excusing himself from the room, followed by three weeks of incredibly uncomfortable silences and deliberate distance until the lease ends and Cas quietly skulks off to Gabe’s sofa.

“Good,” he finally says, though ‘good’ is an effective description in the same way that ‘the arctic is chilly’ and ‘an event horizon can slightly distort perception’ and ‘cats aren’t unpleasant to look at’ fully represent reality.

Though, to be fair, he’s still worried Dean’s ready to chalk it up to – what was it? ‘Experiment success’ – and once he’s delivered on his next promise, he’ll shy away from Cas’s waiting list of excuses to have him keep doing it. After all, Cas can don a cowboy hat and boots and any other costume Dean wants him in, but the reality is, Dean doesn’t _need_ it to be Cas, not the way Cas needs it to be Dean.

Cas is still afraid he just – doesn’t have as much to offer.

Still, other than the ever-present anxiety involved in maintaining a sexual relationship with someone who doesn’t realize they’re _in_ one with you – Cas feels _incredible_ about what they did yesterday.

Dean bites his lip.

“This the same kind of ‘good’ as yesterday?”

Cas smiles, letting his other hand join the first underneath Dean’s t-shirt.

“It is.” He tilts his head. “I think we should talk about your cowboy fantasy, though.”

Dean blinks.

“Oh. I – sure. But – you know, things were kind of – you don’t really have to-”

Cas leans forward, kissing him quiet.

“I don’t have to,” he agrees softly. “I get to.”

Dean sucks in a breath.

“O-oh. Yeah? I – I didn’t know you were, uh, into that.”

Once again, Cas is floored as to how Dean could possibly still be missing the obvious, but since he doesn’t like half the answers he can come up with, he decides to just continue disregarding the question.

“Well. It sounded hot, when you told me about it,” he offers honestly, and before he can stop himself- “I thought about it, afterwards.”

Dean swallows.

“You did?”

Cas hesitates.

Does he dare?

“Yes,” he finally says, watching Dean carefully. “I believe you heard me getting off to it.”

Dean’s jaw drops.

“ _That’s_ what you were-” He cuts off, inhaling. “And – you – was it good?”

Cas licks his lips, wondering if Dean’s made the connection, if that’s the source of his shock.

“It was.”

“Okay.” Dean gulps. “Okay, then – yeah? If you think you’d enjoy it in practice. And with me, instead of your, uh, imaginary people.”

For a moment, Cas just looks at him.

 _Of course,_ he thinks, suppressing a sigh. _Of course._

“I think I will.” He supposes it’s just as well. “But I don’t own a hat. Or boots.”

“I do,” Dean says quickly. “It’s not like you’ve gotta actually wear the boots anywhere, so it’s okay if they’re a little big, right?”

Cas smiles, sliding one hand up, stroking over Dean’s chest.

“It should be. When did you want to do that?”

Dean licks his lips, eyes flicking between Cas’s.

“Uh. Well, my – my schedule’s pretty wide open, so . . . whenever you want to is fine.”

“Alright.” Cas pauses. “What if I want to right now?”

Dean reaches up, wrapping a hand around Cas’s wrist and squeezing.

“Then you should meet me in your room in five minutes.”

And if it turns out to take ten-

Well, it’s Dean’s own fault for teaching him the importance of we-just-made-sexy-plans kisses, isn’t it?

“You, uh. You need some help with that?”

Cas cocks his head, though he keeps moving, hovering over Dean as he works his fingers in and out of himself, and Christ-on-a-fucking-cracker, it’s all Dean can do not to look down, to watch Cas’s cock bounce with every firm roll of his hips, to watch his hand work between his legs, shiny with lube as it drips down from his fingers.

It’s all he can do not to ask Cas to turn around so Dean can _see_ it, see every twitch of Cas’s rim as his fingers thrust inside, opening himself up for Dean’s cock. As it is, watching Cas’s face, his flushed cheeks and parted lips as his breath hitches and his lashes flutter is just, it’s so-

“No. I thought you just wanted to lie back and watch.” Cas studies him. “You don’t seem interested in watching, though.”

Dean swallows, carefully moving his gaze from Cas’s face back to the ceiling, because Cas is doing him a _huge_ goddamn favor here- even if he said he was kind of into it, to – and Dean’s not about to put him off by looking where he shouldn’t.

It’s just – it’s so hard, sometimes, to remember that Cas isn’t _actually_ his partner, and that while it’s all good and well for Dean’s tongue and fingers and dick to go various places inside Cas’s body, the ogling should be kept to a minimum.

Especially since right now Dean isn’t actually even _doing_ anything. There’s literally no good excuse for him to stare hungrily while he watches Cas’s beautiful, perfect fingers disappear inside his beautiful, perfect hole, and he’s not going to fuck this up for himself and make Cas uncomfortable by trying to do it anyway.

“I – I am, I just . . . usually, I’m doing stuff, when we – do stuff. I wasn’t sure you’d want me just, uh. Staring, while _you_ did stuff. You know?”

Cas’s brow dips.

“I thought that was part of the fantasy.”

Dean bites his lips, hands twitching where they rest on Cas’s thighs, just above his knees. He can feel it, every time Cas moves up and down, see the way the leather of the boots flexes around his calves, and he knows if Cas so much as glances down, he’ll be able to see just how much this is turning Dean on.

“It is, but – is that okay?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. “I don’t – I don’t wanna make it weird.”

Cas pauses, then withdraws his fingers, staring down at Dean with a frown.

“Weird how? For me or for you?”

“Well, you,” Dean points out, because _obviously –_ in what universe would Dean feel weird about seeing the devastatingly handsome guy he’s in love with finger himself in preparation to take Dean’s cock, cowboy hat quivering atop his head all the while – and Cas relaxes, reaching for the lube again, the implications of which Dean does his best not to think about, because coming all over yourself before you even get to the main even is just _embarrassing_. “Like, if I help you get ready, then it’s more like – you know. But if I’m just watching you . . . maybe that’s, uh. Weird for you. To have me stare while you – do stuff to yourself. You know?”

Cas lifts his brows, carefully drizzling lube into his palm.

“I’m doing stuff to myself so I can do stuff to you,” he points out, and then he’s wrapping a firm, slick hand around Dean’s cock, and Dean jerks into his grasp, brain pretty much flatlining as Cas scoots forward, guiding him into place. “I don’t think it’s weird. And even if it _is_ -”

He sinks down in one swift, easy motion, shuddering as Dean stretches and fills him, hole clenching tightly as he bottoms out, and Dean lets out one of the most embarrassing sounds he’s ever made in his life.

“Even if it is,” Cas repeats hoarsely, circling his hips a little, still squeezing around him, and it’s all Dean can do to stay put and let him set the pace. Cas is so fucking _hot,_ wet and open and deliciously tight all at the same time, and Dean blankly wonders if, if he can just think up some more kinky sex fantasies, he’ll have a chance to get _used_ to this. “We’re best friends, remember? You get to be a little rude with me. You get to be a little weird, too. _And_ – you also get to watch me fuck myself on your cock until we both come.”

Dean jerks up inside of him, and Cas smiles beneath the cowboy hat, pupils huge, lips red and parted and part of Dean wants to finally be honest with both of them, to tell Cas that he wouldn’t do half of what they’ve done with a partner of _months_ , never mind just a best friend, but then Cas _won’t_ fuck himself on Dean’s cock until they both come and Dean is too weak to give that up, to give any of it up, so he just squeezes Cas’s brutally perfect thighs and tells him to show him what he’s got.

“Do you want me to say anything?” Cas asks, just barely lifting before he grinds back down, and Dean struggles to find words.

“Uh. Like what?”

Cas hesitates.

“Howdy, pardner. Yeehaw.” He clears his throat. “Giddy up?

Dean snorts, the frenzy of lust inside his brain abating slightly.

“Are you a weed? ‘Cause God damn would I like to tumble you.”

Cas chuckles, pushing up a little higher and sinking back down, and Dean gasps, pleasure and laughter both caught in his throat.

“Are you meant to be a horse in this situation or may I ki-practice my kissing. While we do this?”

Dean grins, unable to bring himself to feel guilty for not just telling Cas ‘trust me, you’re good.’ The more practice he gets, the more confident he’ll be, right? And since that’s mostly his problem, it’s just as well that they keep at it.

“Of course. And as far as the horse goes – I didn’t really think that far ahead, to be honest.” Dean considers it, trying not to move his hips, because this is supposed to be slow and lazy and hot and he’s not supposed to get too excited, although that’s difficult whenever he’s naked in a room with Cas and they’re getting off, never mind when Cas is slick and hot around his cock and making him laugh. “Man, I should have put on my sheriff costume. You could be an outlaw, trying to talk me into lettin’ you make off with the goods.”

Cas raises a brow.

“By letting _you_ make off with the goods?”

“Well, no, that makes it sound like I’d be keeping you. Except for myself.”

“Are you suggesting you’d offer me an ultimatum? Jail, or marry you?”

“We did already establish that you wanted to marry me,” Dean jokes, cheeky, and Cas goes quiet for a moment.

“What are the perks, officer?” he asks at last, and Dean makes a face.

“’Hey,” he reprimands, pinching Cas’s ass, and Cas lets out a soft hiss, eyes narrowing in the shadow of the hat brim.

“What was that for?”

“Come on, man. They didn’t call ‘em officers back then.”

Cas just rolls his eyes.

“Fine. What are the perks, _lawman_? How’re you gonna make it worth my while?” he drawls, utterly flat, and Dean can tell it’s supposed to be more funny than sexy, but Cas is _Cas_ and God damn, it’s both.

“Well, I cook. Make a mean chili, keep a real clean house. I’ll make sure all your . . . socks are darned.”

Cas just looks at him, graceful as he glides down on the next stroke, thighs tensing beneath Dean’s hands, and Dean grips them a little more tightly, eliciting a small shudder.

“What about footrubs after a long day of . . . bandit-ing?”

Dean snorts, but tries his best to look serious.

“You think I’d let you keep at it? Nah, if I take you home, sweetheart, I’m keepin’ you there.”

Cas tilts his head.

“Are you, sheriff? Well-maintained socks and single-pot dishes don’t seem that compelling.”

“I tell awesome jokes, too.”

Cas huffs, arching a little as he settles in Dean’s lap, slowly grinding into figure eights.

“Dean, you tell jokes like you’re already forty and father to at least one teenage daughter,” Cas breathes out, shutting his eyes, and Dean can feel himself twitching inside of Cas, because God, Cas riding him like that, thighs taut, leather cowboy boots dug into the mattress toe first, Cas arching and rolling his hips in a mesmerizing rhythm with his head thrown back and his eyes shut as the hat brim slips low over his eyes-

“Okay then, smartass,” he manages. “Name your terms.”

Cas cracks one eye open, and then he leans back even further, planting his hands on Dean’s thighs and rocking forward with a soft moan.

“I want – a houseplant.”

Dean immediately scowls, which is hard, because whatever Cas’s hips are doing feels _incredible_.

“Dude, we talked about this. They attract bugs.”

“I don’t care.”

“You wanted a fucking _orchid._ Do you want roaches, Cas? Because that’s how you get roaches.”

“Dean, you sweep obsessively. We won’t get roaches.” Cas huffs. “And orchids are pretty.”

“Yeah, but roaches belly up on your kitchen floor aren’t.”

“What about a ficus?”

Dean shakes his head, hands traveling a little further up Cas’s legs.

“Spider mites and mealybugs.”

“An african violet?”

“Christ, no. Gnats.”

“A cactus?”

“For me to trip facefirst into in the middle of the night when I get up for water? _Hell_ no.”

Cas groans, and not in a sexy way, hips stilling.

“ _Dean_.”

Dean frowns, his name sounding less thrilling and sexy on Cas’s lips than it has in a long time.

“Why’d you stop?”

Cas lifts his brows.

“You broke character.”

“Um, no, _you_ broke character. You know how I feel about houseplants. And bugs.”

“Bugs aren’t a guarantee-”

“But there’s no point _risking_ it-”

“They’re not going to kill us-”

“I mean, they _could_ -”

Dean’s always reasonable response in this argument is interrupted by his phone ringing, and Cas scowls.

“Wait, you didn’t turn it _off_?”

“Of course not. What if it’s an emergency?”

“You could have at least put it on vibrate.”

“What if I didn’t hear it?” Dean protests, reaching for it. “We _do_ get noisy. Hence the practice.”

Cas’s arm snaps out, a hand grabbing his wrist, grip firm.

“Dean. You are not going to answer that while we’re in the middle of – of – of masturbating together.”

Dean raises his brows. Technically, he was just going to mute it – he’d only pick up if someone kept calling – but now he’s curious.

“Yeah? Thought I was the sheriff here.”

“Yes, and I’m the unscrupulous bandit who’s willing to fight dirty.”

“You think the sheriff won’t fight dirty?”

“The sheriff can’t even brook a compelling argument for the bandit to live in domestic harmony with him,” Cas says flatly. “I don’t think the sheriff is imaginative enough.”

Dean considers this for a moment.

And then he shakes off Cas’s hand and seizes it, rolling them and pinning it high above Cas’s head, relishing the way his breath hitches at the motion, Dean still seated deep inside him.

Still, he doesn’t give him time to react, just hikes Cas’s leg a little higher up, drawing back and snapping forward.

“The sheriff is plenty imaginative, Cas.”

Cas swallows, eyes wide and hat askew.

“This – this wasn’t the fantasy.”

“So?” Dean hesitates. “Weren’t you the one saying the stuff we actually do is worth more?”

Cas blinks up at him for a moment, mouth open.

And then there’s a boot heel digging into Dean’s ass, so hard it hurts, but in the best possible way.

“Alright, _lawman_ ,” Cas practically growls, using the _voice,_ the one Dean thinks he could probably come just from hearing right in his ear for a few minutes or so. “A tomato plant on the balcony and I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

 _It’s a game,_ Dean tells himself.

(Trying to see if someone will deliver a tomato plant for real can’t hurt, though.)

“Fine. But you’re darning your own goddamn socks,” he warns.

Cas just grips the back of his neck, yanks his head down and kisses him in response.

“Sam! Finally,” Dean complains, his brother’s predictably unimpressed face filling the screen. “Dude, why haven’t you been picking up my calls? If Mom and Dad hadn’t heard from you, I would have had to drive out there and make sure your roommates hadn’t eaten you.”

Sam makes a face.

“Why would my roommates eat me? We do a grocery run every two weeks, Dean.”

Dean frowns.

“Seriously? Every two weeks?”

“Uh, yeah? Most people do.”

Personally, Dean thinks most people are way too cavalier about their ‘necessary errands,’ but no one asked him.

“Well, sure, but why don’t you just stock up?”

Sam squints.

“Two weeks worth of food _is_ stocking up. Why, how often have you been going?”

Dean swallows.

“We haven’t. I mean, I went back in March, but-”

“You haven’t been to the store since _March_?”

“No? It – it’s safer that way.”

“What are you even _eating_?”

“Well, I’m not stupid, Sammy. I bought plenty.”

“It’s been two _months_ , Dean!”

“Yeah, well, Cas and I are being careful. And I even found some stuff in my camping backpack the other day.”

“You found some stuff in your – _dude._ Cas is seriously okay with this?”

“What? Of course. Honestly, I think he has a way harder time not being able to leave the apartment, but – he knows how important this is.”

Sam just stares for a moment.

“Like – he still goes running and stuff, though, right?”

Dean frowns.

“No. I mean – he went, once, but – it’s really not safe, Sam.”

“Running outdoors at the crack of dawn when there are so few people you can probably avoid them by at least fifteen feet isn’t _safe_?”

“It’s better not to risk it,” Dean insists, and Sam’s face drops into his hands.

“Oh, my God,” he mutters, and then adds something that _kind of_ sounds like ‘how has he not killed you?’, but given that Cas is still fucked out and sound asleep after coming so hard Dean ended up having to gently wriggle off his boots and set his hat aside, careful not to wake him, Dean thinks it’s fair to say killing Dean isn’t exactly at the forefront of Cas’s mind. “Right. Okay. Well, have you at least told him you loved him?”

It takes a second for Dean to catch up, still caught on thoughts of Cas, an exhausted, sated heap beneath the blanket Dean carefully tucked over him before he slipped out to finish his own calls. He _thinks_ that’s a good thing, thinks they both completely failed at the whole ‘quiet’ thing, Cas desperate and wild underneath him, Dean’s back still stinging from the way Cas’s fingers had dug in as they raked down it, body clutching Dean’s in every conceivable way as Dean had held his thighs open and fucked into him, drunk on the sensation of Cas’s sweat-damp skin and clawing fingers and the tight, slick grasp of his hole, eagerly taking Dean’s cock again and again and _again_ while Cas bucked and moaned, gritting out demands for _more_ -

“Dean?”

At least, he _thinks_ that was all a good sign, he realizes with a frown. Flipping someone over and holding them open while you thrust into them so hard the bed starts sliding around doesn’t exactly scream ‘gentle,’ and given the lengths he was going to to reassure Cas that he _wouldn’t_ ever use force with him, maybe that kind of undermined his point.

“ _Dean._ ”

Actually, this isn’t even the first time, is it? And while Dean doesn’t think it’s fair to count bending Cas over a sink or pinning him to the sofa – he was _panicking,_ okay? – there was also that time, first thing in the morning, when Cas invited him to fuck his thighs and Dean somehow ended up holding him down while he aggressively thrust between them and eventually came all over his back-

“ _Hey_! Dean!”

Dean glances at the screen, irritated.

“ _What_?” he snaps, although really, he’s more upset with himself. Just this morning, he was telling his parents what a hard time Cas was having, was telling himself Cas _needed_ him, felt reassured by Dean and all the things they did together, but who the hell feels reassured by getting pinned down and ruthlessly pounded into the mattress, to the point they basically _pass out_ afterward?

If Cas is having a hard time right now, he deserves a chill, _sensitive_ masturbation buddy, and no, Dean doesn’t _mean_ to be rough with him, but whether it’s panic or lust or Cas frantically wrapping around him and making all those _sounds_ in that low, gravelly voice of his, Dean just – it’s like his brain goes to a different place entirely, and all there is is him and Cas and skin and that searing give and take as he blindly chases the feeling of-

“Dude, what the hell is with you?”

Dean takes a deep breath, shaking himself.

“Sorry, what?”

Sam scowls, giving him a suspicious look.

“I asked, have you told Cas you loved him yet?”

Dean recoils, incredulous.

“Have I _what_? Dude, _no._ You don’t just randomly drop an L-bomb on your best friend over dinner any given day. Maybe if we were chicks, but – come on. Guys don’t do that shit with their friends. It’d be weird as hell.”

Sam just stares at the screen for a long, long moment, face blank.

And then, with a sigh-

He hangs up.

“Cas?”

Cas blinks his eyes open, the pleasant fog of sleep he’s been drifting through dissipating as Dean’s face comes into view.

He smiles on instinct, relaxing into the pillows and absently reaching up to touch his face.

“Good morning.”

Dean huffs a laugh, although he looks vaguely concerned.

“It’s, uh. Five o’ clock. Did you have a good nap?”

“Oh.” Cas covers a yawn, languid and sleepy and strangely refreshed nonetheless, and then-

He freezes, memory flooding back.

“I fell asleep,” he blurts out, and Dean bites his lip.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He looks away. “Didn’t, uh. Didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“Carried away?” Cas echoes. He doesn’t remember Dean getting carried away; all he remembers is potentially getting promised a tomato plant (!) and then being pressed into the bed and held at _just_ the right angle, Dean enthusiastically fucking into him while Cas clung for dear life, the cowboy hat barely still staying on his head, and finally coming so hard his vision whited out and his mind probably exploded and the next thing he knew, he was sinking into sweet, blissful darkness, euphoria gently guiding his way down.

“Yeah. Anyway, I – I ran you a bath? If you wanna get cleaned up? I mean, I – I mostly got you earlier, but – uh. We forgot a condom, and I – anyway, sorry.”

Cas shifts beneath the blanket – Dean must have taken off his boots and covered him up, he realizes, warmth suffusing him – and yes, he can definitely tell they ‘forgot’ a condom.

“A bath sounds great, Dean.”

Dean smiles slightly, offering a hand, and Cas reluctantly allows himself to be pulled upright, twisting into a stretch.

He’s sore in the _best_ of ways, and he can’t stop himself from leaning forward and pressing his lips to Dean once he’s through.

“Good job,” he sighs against him, and Dean hums.

“Sure. You can have a bath anytime you want, Cas, just let me know.”

Cas pulls back, shaking his head and deciding there’s no point correcting him.

“How was it for you?” he asks instead, studying Dean, and Dean looks startled.

“Oh.” He ducks his chin, rubbing the back of his neck. “It – you know. Awesome. Way better than fantasy. Thanks for doin’ that with me.”

“Anytime,” Cas says, sincere. Calf-high boots are uncomfortable as hell when you’re riding someone, and his legs still got a little sweaty even once Dean rolled him onto his back and took over, but that was nothing compared to the actual sex. And if it means he can be a fantasy-come-to-life for Dean – if it means he can be _better –_ Cas would do it again in a heartbeat. “Can I really have a tomato plant?”

Dean huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. Maybe wait till we’re home, though. I’ll, uh. Look into getting a whole planter box for the backyard, if you want.”

Cas lifts his brows.

“Your parents won’t mind?”

“Nah. Just don’t fuck with the barbecue setup on the patio, and you can pretty much do what you want out back.”

Cas beams.

“Alright. I’d like that.”

After all, Cas doesn’t kid himself that being home will mean Dean is any more open to leaving the house for groceries.

If Cas wants fresh vegetables, he may literally have to grow them himself.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean says, grinning back and tugging at him. “Water’s gonna get cold.”

Dean leads him to the bathroom rather unnecessarily, not that Cas minds, and once Cas has slid into the hot, bubbly water, pleasantly aching muscles relaxing in delight, Dean pulls his phone and a funsize packet of M&Ms off the counter, perching next to the tub and holding up the candy.

“M&M? They’re peanut butter.”

Cas raises a brow.

“Is this dinner?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“No. Dinner is beans and rice. This is a snack.” Dean tears it open, shaking them out into his hand and holding it out. Cas takes one, popping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“Where did they come from?”

“Side pocket of my messenger bag,” Dean says easily. “Leftover from last Halloween.”

“Ah. I didn’t know you’d gone trick-or-treating.”

Dean snorts, leaning back against the wall and picking up his phone with his free hand.

“I bummed some candy off Charlie. Anyway, she sent me this series of textposts I wanted to show you.”

Cas notes, curiously, that he doesn’t take an M&M himself, just unlocks his phone and settles in to read, M&M hand resting against the edge of the tub, within easy reach of Cas.

He stops once the M&Ms are about half-gone and they’ve finished snickering over the textpost, giving Dean a questioning look.

“I think I had my share.”

Dean glances up in surprise, the grin still lingering on his face.

“What? Nah, I’m good. Besides, peanut butter’s your favorite.”

It is, and Cas certainly isn’t about to complain over spending the day after finals having fantastic sex, taking a nap, and relaxing in a bubble bath while Dean entertains him and feeds him M&Ms, but he doesn’t want to be _greedy._

“At least have a few.”

Dean shakes his head, moving his hand a little closer to Cas.

“C’mon. I’m good. Besides, I owe you.”

Which, Cas is honestly not sure Dean could possibly have enjoyed that more than _he_ did, but since that wasn’t necessarily supposed to be his fantasy, it’s probably awkward to say so.

“Technically, I owed you,” he says instead, giving Dean a meaningful look. “And I’ll owe you again, if we’re still going try the, um, the other thing.”

Dean inhales.

“Right.” He licks his lips. “I, uh. I’d like to. If you’re still interested.”

Cas shrugs.

“I’m interested in a lot of things.” He pauses. “Although – you shouldn’t feel pressured to try anything you don’t want to.”

“Yeah? Sounds like you’ve got a whole list or something,” Dean jokes, though his eyes don’t leave Cas’s. “What, uh. What kind of things are you thinking?”

Again, Cas shrugs, casually plucking an M&M out of Dean’s hand.

“Um. Just . . . things. We can talk about them later.”

“Okay.” Dean blinks. “We can talk about them now, if you want.”

“We can, but – I thought you should know. So if _you_ have a list . . . you should share. I’d be more comfortable trying my things, if we tried yours, too.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean nods slowly. “Yeah, I get that.”

They’re quiet for a moment, watching each other.

“When do you think you want to do that?” Cas eventually asks. “What we talked about yesterday, I mean.”

“Uh.” Dean swallows. “I mean . . . any time. How exactly _did_ you wanna do that, by the way? Are we just gonna . . . and then wait till we can get it up again, or do you wanna like, catch a movie in between, or what?”

Cas blinks.

“Oh. I . . . hadn’t really thought about it.”

He hadn’t thought about it at _all,_ honestly, just threw out the first thing he could think of to make sure Dean would end up fucking him at least once more.

“Okay. I can, uh. Edge beforehand, if you want. So I can get it up again faster.”

“I’d have to edge, too,” Cas points out, and if he’s being perfectly honest, he’s not sure he can.

Judging by the look on Dean’s face, he doesn’t care for the idea, either. Cas has begun to suspect Dean finds Cas’s orgasms strangely affirming, on some level – he supposes Dean _is_ very concerned with being a good friend – and if that’s the case, he’s not going to like working him up without setting him off. “Or – I could just not come, in between.”

“In between – you mean, in between me fucking you?”

Cas gives him a sharp look.

_You realize you’re fucking me, then?_

“Yes,” is all he says. “Actually, I wonder if I could-”

He stops, unsure, and Dean leans forward.

“If you could what?”

Cas hesitates.

“Probably not,” he says after a moment. “But – has anyone you were with ever come untouched?”

Dean’s brows lift.

“Uh.”

“I – I do it sometimes,” Cas says, shifting his gaze to the bubbles. “But only by myself.”

Dean’s brows climb even higher.

“You can do that?”

Cas lifts his shoulders.

“I’m . . . unexpectedly sensitive.”

“Unexpectedly?”

“Just – I never did, when I had a partner. I’ve, um, spent more time with myself, the last couple of years, though, and it – it came as a surprise.

And really, Cas wishes he’d lived in a more open household, with his own private space, because all his favorite things about his body are things he didn’t even figure out until he moved in with Dean and suddenly felt compelled to masturbate all-the-fucking time. Having sex with someone else is stressful, especially when you don’t know what you’re doing; and he would have thought having sex with someone he liked this much would be even _more_ stressful, would make him feel even more self-conscious, but having Dean touch him mostly just makes him feel like a happy, carefree idiot, so even if coming untouched was an interesting trick he figured out in the comfort and privacy of his own bedroom -

If he _can_ do it with an audience, a part of him thinks that audience would be Dean.

Dean’s smirking slightly when he looks up, and Cas frowns.

“What?”

“Just – you said it ‘came as a surprise.’” He gives Cas an expectant look, and after a moment of blankness, Cas sighs.

“ _Anyway_. The point is – maybe I could. If you don’t let me come the first time.”

Dean’s smirk slips away.

“Oh.” He swallows. “Okay. Uh. Sure, if – if you wanna try that. Especially – there’s a lot of pressure when you’re actually having sex, and since I’m not a partner, maybe it – you know, maybe it’ll be more like when you’re by yourself.”

“Right,” Cas says, barely even surprised anymore.

“Be cool to see,” Dean adds, setting his phone aside and rubbing the back of his neck. “Not everyone can do that. I mean, I think those girls that can think themselves to orgasm still have you beat, but – yeah.”

Cas hesitates.

“No one you’ve been with has done it?”

“Well, no? I mean – I haven’t had a lot of longterm things with dudes, to be honest, and one of ‘em didn’t even like anal, period, and . . . I’m not gonna lie, it wouldn’t really occur to me not to give somebody a hand unless they told me they didn’t want it. Penetration’s great and all, but uh, we’ve got dicks and clitorises and all that other fun stuff for a reason, so I guess a part of me’s like . . . if you can get both, why wouldn’t you?”

Cas tilts his head.

“You don’t feel . . . accomplished, at the thought of making your partner come without it?”

Dean snorts, leaning back again.

“Uh, no. I mean, sure, I’d love to think I had a magic dick and I’m so skilled I could just conjure an orgasm in somebody with a snap of the frenulum, but – come on. That kind of thing’s more of a team effort, you know? Like most sex.” He shrugs. “Besides, you’ve only done it on your own, right? Case in point; that’s your show, man.”

“True,” Cas agrees slowly, bizarrely aroused by this insight into Dean’s sexual philosophy, not that it’s necessarily a surprise. “And I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it with you. I’d hate to let you down.”

Dean looks incredulous.

“Dude. You couldn’t let me down if you tried. I just love getting to see you come, no matter how you do it.”

Cas blinks.

“You love getting to see me come?”

Dean freezes.

“Uh. I just – I care about you a lot, and I want you to feel good, and it makes me happy when you’re happy, is all I meant. ‘Cause you’re my best friend, you know?”

“Okay,” Cas says, and it is, but also he has questions, because _yes,_ they’re best friends, and yes, Dean is kind and caring and empathetic, but is he that happy and enthusiastic about _all_ his friends’ orgasms, and if not, couldn’t that mean Cas is different for a reason?

Isn’t feeling that way one of the things that makes a relationship a little bit more than platonic in the first place?

Of course, plenty of friends have active, satisfying sexual relationships without any additional significance to it, and being happy about your partner’s orgasm is just good form, so maybe Cas is simply searching for evidence of what he _wants_ to be the case instead of just learning to accept things as they are.

 _Maybe_ Cas should just shut up and enjoy the moment, instead of worrying about whether or not it will culminate in any kind of future together.

Abruptly, Dean clears his throat.

“S-so, anyway. Is, uh. Is that the plan, then? I’m gonna edge for a few days, and once we get started, you’re gonna wait to come so you can try and do it on my cock?”

Cas’s worries vanish without a trace, and he struggles for nonchalance as he plucks the last M&M from Dean’s palm and tucks it between his lips.

“Sounds good to me,” he says, trying not to think too hard about _coming on Dean’s cock._ “You don’t have to edge, though.”

Dean shakes his head.

“Nah. Especially if you’re not gonna come the first time – I don’t wanna keep you waiting.”

Cas smiles slightly.

“I appreciate that.”

Dean winks, leaning in closer so he can slip an arm around Cas as he retrieves his phone from the bath mat.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he jokes, thumbing the curls at Cas’s nape. “Wanna see a video of a dog herding cats?”

Cas blinks.

“I didn’t think cats could be herded.”

Dean grins, tapping at his screen.

“Not by people, maybe,” he says, and Cas turns a little more toward the edge of the tub in response, leaning in against Dean’s arm.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he murmurs, so Dean-

Dean shows him.


	18. the grin and bare it incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: pandemic-anxiety, evidence of somewhat serious psychological stress (though it’s not explicitly referenced; this is still crack, after all), rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, riding, brief reference to hypothetically having kids together, keeping each other quiet, suggestion of one partner functioning as a toy (as part of mutual dirty talk), please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> note: Dean reacts to a change in his body based on what Cas’s opinion of it might be; while this is not uncommon (thanks, society!) and certainly beyond an individual’s control, feelings about one’s body should never have to come down to what another person or people may think about it.
> 
> Hope you’re all hanging in there ♡ Thanks very much for reading, please enjoy, and may tomorrow look a little brighter.

**CHECKOUT**.

Dean stares at the word, heart unsteady in his chest, his gaze flicking over the items in the cart. Just some essentials, nothing perishable, stuff he can glove up and barely touch before leaving to sit by the door and decontaminate for a week or so; lube, a few other toiletries, some snacks Cas likes and maybe a tiny Squishable, just because it’s on discount and it’s cute and Cas is cute and Cas is struggling and maybe he could use another soft thing to cuddle with.

(Given the pilates and the lean meals of late, Dean’s pie-top is starting to shrink, and while normally he’d be _happy_ about it, if it makes him in any way less comforting to Cas, he wants no part of it.)

A responsible deliveryperson, suitably masked and sanitized and carefully distanced, will bring said essentials straight to his door, and all Dean has to do is practice the full list of safety precautions, bring them inside, and wait for them to be safe.

Yes, that deliveryperson will have delivered to countless dwellings before theirs, and yes, it’s entirely possible they could have picked the virus up from any of those encounters, even if they weren’t technically encounters, and yes, this will involve opening the door to a hallway someone else was breathing in and then bringing potentially dangerous boxes inside where they could conceivably pollute the air he and _Cas_ share-

But they’re running low on things and Cas has to be getting tired of beans and rice and tuna and whatever random scraps Dean finds in cupboards and closets, and since dinner is way less fun when he doesn’t have anything particularly worthy to offer Cas as sustenance-

He can do this.

The deliveryperson is going to be careful, and Dean is going to be careful, and even if it means spending all three days masturbating Cas to exhaustion to make sure _Cas_ is careful, too, the odds are good that things will be okay.

The mouse hovers over the checkout button, cart full of good things, _necessary_ things, things that will make living with Dean infinitely more tolerable, probably, and yet-

Dean doesn’t move, still staring at the button with a sick sort of trepidation, because what if things _aren’t_ okay?

“Good morning,” Cas announces, gruff and sleepy, and Dean hastily shuts his laptop, turning.

“Hey, you’re up. Wasn’t sure it was gonna happen,” he adds, teasing, and Cas pauses, turning to face him.

He tilts his head, and then-

“Fair. You did wear me out,” he says simply, and Dean’s mouth goes dry.

He stares, and the way Cas looks back is almost enough for him to pry the laptop back open and order the shit out of his cart, because there was warming apple pie flavored lubricant in there and he’s almost as excited by the prospect of trying it as he is by having canned chicken and soup base again.

Cas abruptly starts toward the sofa, and Dean straightens, automatically tilting his head up for the _awesome_ good-morning kiss he gets, Cas’s mouth soft against his, stubble brushing Dean’s chin.

“Good morning, Dean,” he murmurs, and Dean can’t resist slipping a hand beneath his t-shirt, to where his skin is still warm from being in bed.

“’Morning, sweetheart,” he mumbles back, and if his hand happens to slide suspiciously close to Cas’s ass, he’s just being affectionate, is all.

For some reason, Cas sighs.

“Thank you,” he returns cryptically, then pulls away, gently detaching Dean’s hands – which, how did the second one even _get_ there? – and smiling down at him. “So. We have nothing to do today.”

Dean grins.

“Feels good to be free, doesn’t it?”

“I’m looking forward to a break,” Cas agrees, studying him, and Dean tries not to be too conscious of the way Cas is still just holding his hands, letting their shared grasp hang between them.

“Yeah? You wanna get back into a pilates routine?”

Cas is silent for a moment.

“The weather is getting nicer and nicer,” he eventually starts. “We could also go for walks, in the morning.”

Dean swallows, instinctively pulling his hands away, and Cas frowns.

Still-

“I don’t, uh. I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re not really out of the woods yet, and – you know, even if the odds are low, being outside, that’s still not a risk you wanna take.”

Cas hesitates.

“Is it a risk, though? I just thought – if we wore masks, and we go off the path when it looks like there might be other people around-”

“Yeah, but you still have to touch crosswalk buttons, and people leave their germs in the air behind them, man. And sometimes there’s no way to get off the path. And don’t even get me _started_ on fucking cyclists-”

“I think they move too quickly to be much of a problem,” Cas counters, looking troubled, and shit, troubled is the last thing Dean wants Cas to be at a time like this, not when he’s already struggling so much.

“Isn’t the pilates enough exercise?” Dean tries. “We could add more videos.”

“We could, but – the point is fresh air, Dean.”

“Okay? Let’s just – push back the sofa and do it in the living room, with the balcony door open. Problem solved.”

“I just – I thought it would be nice. To show you the trail.” Cas looks away. “It’s a good trail. I’ve run it almost every day since we moved in.”

“Okay, fair, but – we’re moving out soon, aren’t we?” he reminds him, a little desperate. “There’s not a whole lot of point.”

For a moment, Cas doesn’t answer, and since he doesn’t look any less dismayed, either, something in Dean shrivels, his brother’s words suddenly echoing in his ears.

_How has he not killed you yet?_

“Right. I suppose not,” Cas finally says, looking away. “Well, I’m going to get my tea.”

Dean quickly jumps up.

“No, sit, I’ll get it. You’re, uh. Still waking up.”

Another long pause, Cas giving him an inscrutable look.

“Alright,” he says, and after a beat, moves to round the sofa. “Cartoons?”

Dean relaxes a little.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

He heads for the kitchen, flicking the switch on the kettle, and throws a surreptitious look over his shoulder. Cas is making himself comfy on the sofa, wrapping the throw around himself, and Dean decides that means things are probably okay.

Sure, Cas might miss his morning runs, but everybody misses a lot of things, these days.

Sacrifices have to be made, though, and that’s all there is to it.

“We could do it out on the patio,” Dean abruptly offers. “When we get home.”

Cas glances back at him.

“Is there space?”

“Sure. Might be a tight fit, but I can work something out.”

(Hopefully Mom and Dad won’t mind him shifting the table around.)

Cas considers this.

“Will you still wear the shorts?”

Dean colors.

“I’m not wearing the shorts at home, period. Dad’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“But I like you in the shorts,” Cas says, and Dean freezes, stomach trying to move in two different directions.

“You do?”

Cas blinks.

Then he coughs.

“Yes. It – it makes me feel less self-conscious.” He looks down. “I suppose I can just wear sweats while I’m there.”

 _While I’m there,_ he says, like it’s just – temporary, a short visit instead of a move to a new home.

“I’ll wear ‘em,” Dean counters quickly, deciding his dad’s snark can go fuck itself. “I mean, you – that – it’s gonna be home, for a while, right? You should feel comfortable doing whatever, so – so if you need me to, I’ll do that.”

Cas gives him a long look.

“But you won’t go on a walk with me.”

Dean grimaces.

“Cas-”

Cas shakes his head.

“It’s fine.” He crosses his arms over the sofaback, tilting his head. “What about . . . practice kisses?”

Dean fumbles Cas’s favorite cat-print tea mug, breathing a sigh of relief when he catches it before it can break.

“Uh.” He clears his throat, setting it down next to the kettle. “That . . . I mean, I think that’s a pretty, uh, normal thing, that we’re doing – you know, it just makes sense – but I can also see how – how people might get the, um, the wrong idea, and it – maybe it’d be a little awkward to explain?”

Cas nods slowly.

“So . . . we should keep it to your room.”

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat. “And – you’re still good to share?”

“I didn’t think there was a choice.”

Dean tries and fails to crush a surge of panic, even though – obviously, it’s about what’ll make Cas feel most comfortable.

“I mean – if you want, you can have the guest room,” he forces himself to admit. “Mom and Dad want you to, uh, feel at home, so you can . . . make it yours, and stuff.”

Cas looks taken aback.

“Oh.” His brow creases. “Of course – if you don’t want to share-”

“Didn’t say that,” Dean says quickly, trying not to look too hopeful. “Just – you know. You have choices. You don’t have to choose me.”

Cas blinks.

“I mean – staying with me. You don’t have to choose to stay with me.”

Cas hesitates.

“Didn’t I already?”

Dean stills.

“What?”

Cas looks down at his folded arms, shrugging.

“I thought – we talked about it. We were going to stay together.”

“I – yeah, of course. Just – it doesn’t have to be in the same room, if you don’t want it to be.”

“What do you want?”

Which – Dean either needs all day to answer that, or just the one word – _you –_ but he’s come too far to fuck such a good thing up by blurting out feelings now.

“I like sharing,” he says instead, trying desperately for nonchalant. “I mean – you know me. I – I always appreciate company. And it’s, uh, easier, to help you practice stuff, and to – you know, everything else, if we share.”

Cas doesn’t answer, for a moment, and then abruptly, he turns around, pulling the blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“Then let’s share. I don’t want to sleep without you,” he adds, barely discernible from the kitchen, and then he reaches for the remote, switching on the TV.

Beside Dean, the kettle starts beeping, and after a moment of stunned disbelief, he quickly turns and starts fixing Cas’s tea.

Anyway, Dean thinks about it.

He thinks about it, tucking Cas’s mug between his palms and then settling in beside him, an arm around his shoulders to help keep him warm, and he thinks about it, helping Cas roll out mats and subsequently squeezing into galaxy-print spandex for a brutal round of ab exercises.

He doesn’t think about it when he weakly crawls over Cas and his mat, tugging down Cas’s shorts and giving him a scrupulously gentle blowjob, but he thinks about it once he’s using the sink to splash come off his face while Cas showers up and Dean carefully holds his body away from the edge of the sinktop, trying to ignore his borderline painful erection.

(Maybe edging is a bad idea. There’s getting it up again faster, and then there’s going off as soon as he’s slid home, and somehow he thinks the second thing will be kind of disappointing for Cas, goals or not. After all, once Cas has gotten all his come-related kink exploration out of the way, if Dean’s clearly lousy at all his various dick maneuvers, he can forget about masturbating Cas with them.)

(Although a part of him still thinks using his dick to get Cas off _might_ count as sex.)

(But it’s not _supposed_ to be sex, at least not to Cas, so that means it isn’t, right?)

(Man, he wishes he knew somebody he could just _ask._ )

(Though on the other hand, if he knew for sure and it _was_ sex, he’d have no choice but to _tell_ Cas, and maybe even apologize for having sex with him without his permission, and then Cas might be too upset to move in with Dean and his parents, after all.)

(Christ. How did it all get so _complicated_?)

He thinks about it while he’s stirring more rice and beans together (technically a complete protein, though Dean wishes he had even a couple of hot dogs or a green pepper to throw into the skillet), and he half-thinks about it while they Skype with Charlie and set up a virtual game night, because the other half of his brain is busy being terrified that the vaguely shrewd, calculating way she examines them means she’s about to say they got another noise complaint – they _really_ need to learn to be quiet – which might make Cas too uncomfortable to keep doing things with him.

(Oh, God, maybe he _is_ having sex with Cas without his permission. This seems like a lot of hoops to jump through to prevent Cas from actually thinking through his choices, doesn’t it? If this were good, honest masturbation between friends, Dean shouldn’t bat an eye at another friend reminding them to _quietly_ moan each other’s names in the face of their rapidly building orgasms, and yet, here he is, desperately trying to stop Cas from stepping back and looking at the big picture. If Dean’s not doing anything wrong, then should he really be afraid of Cas actually thinking about what they’re doing in the first place?)

(But as long as Cas is getting what he meant to get out of it – comfort and reassurance in super shitty times – then letting him _keep_ doing it without having to worry about what other people think is the best thing for him. Dean’s just protecting him from feeling pressure from fucked up societal norms; he already figured this out when they started this, and the only reason he’s getting weird about it now is because _he_ has weird feelings and ideas. Cas is _fine,_ and just so long as Charlie or Dean’s family or even Dean himself don’t make him question it beyond simply taking what he needs, then Dean just has to put it out of mind, too, and it’ll be okay.)

(Still . . .)

So Dean thinks, and thinks, and only when Cas rolls onto him and traces his cheek, studying him with curious blue eyes, and asks what he’s thinking about, does he finally push it from his mind for the night.

“Moving logistics,” he lies, looping an arm around Cas’s waist and smiling down at him. This part, at least, he doesn’t have to worry about. He’s never rough when they snuggle, but he never holds back, either, and no matter how much they do it, there’s not a soul out there who could try and say he was hurting Cas.Cuddling is the most straightforward, transparent act of affection a pair of buddies can _do,_ and since literally any two people who care about each other are allowed to do it, there’s nothing for either one of them to second-guess. “What to get rid of, what to keep. How to get it home.”

“Should we rent a truck?”

Dean makes a face.

“No, I don’t think it’s safe right now. We don’t have that much stuff, though.”

“Alright. But – you don’t want to have to buy things again, later.”

He hesitates.

“Well. Most things, we should be able to fit in Baby. And Mom talked about maybe coming down to help us.”

“That would be nice,” Cas agrees, and then he sort of looks around the room and Dean can tell that for a little while, they _both_ think about moving.

But eventually, Cas starts drooping over his book and Dean gets up to get the light, and for once, when Cas curls into him and bids him good night, whispering a soft _I love you_ into the space between them-

Instead of just feeling _good_ as he kisses Cas’s hair and mumbles _me too_ back, he feels a little bad, too.

In fact, he realizes as he lies there, still awake and back to thinking – thinking about Cas’s quiet admission of _I don’t want to sleep without you,_ about how it makes him feel, every time Cas touches him like he wants him there, every time Cas’s whispers those words, affirmation Dean would never ask for but maybe, in some small, usually-ignorable part of himself, craves anyway, about how he’s closed the laptop on his cart full of essentials three mornings in a row and can’t bring himself to go on that walk with Cas, either-

He feels _guilty_.

The thing is, Sam is young and he doesn’t know shit, especially when it comes to stuff as complicated as this has turned out to be, but despite that – Dean finds himself thinking about his little brother’s dumb ideas anyway.

In fact, there’s a moment when he’s kneeling by the bed the next day, face buried in Cas’s ass as he moves his tongue in sloppy, wet strokes over his hole, spearing in every now and then while Cas trembles and kicks out and clutches at the sheets, panting Dean’s name, that Dean can’t help himself. He spreads Cas’s legs a little wider, squeezes his thighs the way he’s figured out Cas likes as he fucks his tongue in deep, and he wonders if _maybe,_ just maybe, Sam is right.

Maybe he _should_ try telling Cas he loves him?

Dean’s never been good with those words – or any specific words describing feelings – but he has the heartfelt ‘me too’ down pat and he likes to think he shows it in other ways.

But Cas – Cas is something special. Dean instinctively reaches for the meat of his ass as Cas helplessly starts jerking back, holding him still and tugging him a little farther off the bed so he has less leverage for squirming around, and as he spreads Cas’s cheeks and firmly licks back inside his friend, he realizes that he doesn’t _just_ love Cas; he loves Cas more than he’s ever loved anyone he’s been with. He loves Cas in a way he’s not sure he’ll be _able_ to love someone else, after this, because Cas _is_ special, and the closer they get, the more Dean hates the thought of ever losing any of it. Even if Cas always just loves him as a friend – Dean wants what he can get. Hell, he _needs_ it. That’s all there is to it.

“Oh, God, Dean – Dean, you – feels so good, Dean – _Dean-_ ”

Dean hums against him, gently massaging his cheeks as he plunges his tongue inside of him, and Cas shudders, letting out a choked sound.

No, Cas doesn’t love him back, not in that way, but Dean doesn’t just love Cas in the sexy, moonlit-kisses way, either.

He loves every part of him and what they have together, friendship maybe even the most important piece of it, and Sam’s right.

Cas deserves to know.

Cas deserves to have the same reassurance he gives Dean, every single night, even if Dean can’t always give him everything else he wants, because Dean knows, from being on the other side of it, _exactly_ how much it means.

He pulls back, flushed and breathless, lightly thumbing at Cas’s rim as Cas twitches and moans against the sheets, and takes a fortifying breath.

“Hey, Cas?” he asks, carefully easing a finger inside the wet heat of him, suddenly overwhelmed by feeling.

Cas whimpers in response, trying to wiggle back.

“Y-yes?”

“I just – uh. I just . . .” Dean hesitates, drawing back out to add a second one. Cas opens around them with gratifying ease, groaning out Dean’s name again, toes scrabbling against the floor by the bed as he tries to buck back.

“What? What is it?”

Dean swallows, smoothly thrusting his fingers in and crooking them, searching out the little gland and diligently rubbing once he finds it; no matter how much he loves Cas, no matter how much he’s starting to think he’s been remiss, leaving it at a fucking _me too_ when Cas is practically giving him _everything –_ he is who he is, and this kind of thing is just – it’s _hard._

 _“_ _Fuck –_ Dean – nh, _Dean-_ ”

But Cas deserves to hear it, deserves to know how much he means to Dean, even if he doesn’t know all the ways Dean means it.

“I just want you to know,” he manages, Cas going tight around his fingers, though he’s wet and open and it’s not that much of a hindrance. “I, uh . . .”

He circles the spot, a little caught on Cas’s flushed back, the tension in his shoulders, the way his dark hair has turned shiny with sweat, the mattress shaking right along with him.

“I – I love you.”

Cas’s whole body seizes, thrashing wildly where he lies, a deep, stuttered whimper tearing out of his throat, his hole clamping around Dean’s fingers like it means to destroy them, and only when he collapses back down, shaking, does Dean realize Cas actually just came.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, staring as Cas trembles atop the mattress. “You just-”

Cas lurches upright, scrambling to climb fully onto the bed and turn, looking at Dean with vaguely wild eyes.

“You love me?” he repeats, almost frantic, bracing himself against the edge of the mattress as he leans forward, and Dean stares up at him, a little stunned by his reaction.

Maybe the ‘me too’ is cutting it even less than he thought?

“Uh. I – yeah? Of course. C’mon, man,” he adds, smiling uncertainly. “You know that. I just – I know I don’t always, uh, say it, the right way, but – I do. Of course I do. Just like you – you know, love me.”

Cas’s expression freezes, along with the rest of him, and Dean’s smile falters.

“Cas?”

Cas swallows.

“Oh.”

“Is – is something wrong?”

Cas blinks, then shakes his head, abruptly sitting back as he looks away.

“No,” he says, but his voice is strained, and actually, if Dean’s not mistaken, his eyes look a little – a little _wet_.

He hastily gets to his feet, not even stopping to wince at the stiffness in his knees.

“Hey – hey, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Cas closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing, Cas. C’mon. Talk to me.”

For a long, worrisome moment, Cas doesn’t speak, and just as Dean is starting to wonder if, in his distraction, he’d somehow managed to _hurt_ him-

Cas opens his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, hollow in a way that makes Dean’s chest go unpleasantly tight. “It’s just – you surprised me. You don’t usually say it that way.”

Dean swallows.

“No. Sorry. I didn’t – didn’t mean to spring it on you. Just – you know, it means a lot to me, that _you_ do, and I – I wanted to make sure you knew. For sure.”

Cas takes a deep breath, nodding.

“Thank you. I – I appreciate that. Just – it’s not something I’ve ever heard a lot. Not as much as I would have liked.”

Dean’s stomach drops.

“Jesus – I’m sorry, Cas – if I’d known you needed-”

“It’s not your responsibility, Dean,” Cas interrupts, looking tired in all the wrong ways, given what Dean just did.

“Maybe not, but you – if I feel it, I should say it.” Dean shakes his head, dropping onto the edge of the bed and catching his eye. “And I do, Cas. I – I love you, so fucking much. Like crazy. You’re my best friend, man. Best friend I’ve ever had.”

Cas gives him a long look, and Dean gets a sense of hesitation, of intent, almost like there’s something Cas is holding back.

It makes him a little nervous.

“Likewise,” Cas finally says, looking down again. “And – if you don’t mind saying it, I would appreciate that. Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah.” Dean doesn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. “Of course. I – I will.”

And as hard as that is for him, if it’s what Cas needs-

Dean will find a way.

Cas is quiet, during the bath Dean runs for him, and he’s quiet afterward, dicking around on their laptops while Cas drinks tea and Dean silently pines for beer, and even though Dean’s a _little_ worried, it’s not like he doesn’t know how it is.

Feelings-talk is _awkward,_ plain and simple. Dean said a thing, and Cas admitted some stuff about personal history and emotional needs, and giving each other a little space afterward is just polite.

Still, he’s immensely relieved when Cas eventually shuts the book and pulls up Netflix, and he’s downright _ecstatic_ when it barely plays for twenty minutes before Cas is casually nudging him horizontal and crawling over him to kiss him.

“I do love you,” he sighs, and Dean can’t fight the shiver that ripples through him, because _I love you_ is for bedtime, for soft cuddles and barely-there kisses.

Hearing it when Cas is pressing him into the sofa cushions and stroking up under his t-shirt, mouth hot over his own, is altogether different, somehow, and consequently has something molten and hungry pooling in Dean’s gut.

Although – Cas almost sounds _resigned_ , when he says it.

“I can’t imagine being without you,” he continues softly, thumbs brushing over Dean’s nipples, hips subtly shifting forward, and Dean’s breath hitches for neither of those reasons. “I didn’t realize, before quarantine, how much I need you.”

Dean shudders.

“You need me?”

“I think so,” Cas murmurs, lips trailing over Dean’s jaw, and Dean’s eyes flutter shut as he instinctively cants his head. “I used to think that, while people may require a minimum degree of social interaction, it’s impossible to actually _need_ a specific other person. Well, barring psychological issues, at least. But I do.”

Dean pauses.

“And – you’re sure it’s not just, uh, psychological issues?”

“No,” Cas says seriously, stroking over his ribs. “Not at all. I’ve determined that’s irrelevant, though.”

 _Romantic,_ Dean almost quips, but just barely catches himself in time, because it’s not. That’s not what this is, and it’s not how Cas means it.

But God, hearing Cas _needs_ him, can’t imagine being without him-

“Well, it – it’s a good thing we’re sticking together, then.”

“It is,” Cas agrees, nosing along his throat. “If I had to say goodbye to you when our lease was up – it doesn’t bear thinking, Dean. I’m not sure I’d survive the rest of quarantine.”

Dean sobers.

“I know what you mean. I seriously – I really don’t want to live with Gabe, but if my parents had said you couldn’t stay – I would have.”

Cas pauses briefly, and then resumes drawing his lips across Dean’s collar, thumbs gliding over his stomach.

“I don’t want to live with Gabe, either, if it helps.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to live without you, period. You are . . . _so_ important to me, Dean. I love you, more than I ever thought I could love another person.”

Dean flushes hot, in every sense, because _jesus christ._ It’s not that he’s not right there with Cas, but holy shit, there’s some things you’re supposed to hold back.

Except – except they don’t, do they? Isn’t that why Dean said what he said, earlier? Isn’t that, in some ways, what they’ve been working toward, this entire quarantine?

When it’s just them, just him and Cas – anything goes. They can bare themselves to one another, literally and figuratively, and all it really does is make them stronger.

They can give each other _everything,_ and they don’t have to worry it will change a damn thing.

Dean swallows, eyes suddenly stinging.

He should have fucking said it sooner.

“Same,” he says, and then realizes he’s doing it again. “I mean – I – I can’t – if I think about not having you with me, I – it’d fuck me up to let you go to Gabe’s alone, man.”

Cas abruptly ducks his chin, pressing his lips to Dean’s, and Dean automatically tips his head up, eager for the contact.

“Good,” Cas mutters. “Tell me you need me.”

Which, Dean’s a little worried, because this seems like a sign Cas is feeling kind of insecure today, but then he remembers Cas hasn’t actually seen any of his friends or family in literal _months,_ must be feeling disconnected as fuck, and with Dean the only living soul he can actually reach out and touch-

Dean falters, momentarily distracted, because Cas _is_ touching him, the hands underneath his shirt sliding down and deftly slipping into his sweatpants-

“Dean,” Cas says lowly, and Dean shivers, reaching for Cas’s hips – he swears to God they were somehow molded to fit beneath _his_ hands, specifically – and kisses him hard.

The point is, Cas wanting to hear he’s needed actually makes _perfect_ sense.

“I need you,” he breathes. “Need you so bad, Cas. Part of me thinks if you said you _didn’t_ want to come home with me, I’d take you anyway.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it – especially in light of the whole possibly-having-sex-with-Cas-without-his-knowledge-thing, not to mention all the rough stuff – but Cas makes a choked sound, going rigid on top of him.

“Oh, Dean,” he groans, and then he’s bearing down, kisses hungry, and whatever half-functional, gelatinous lump is left of Dean’s brain slithers right out of his ears and into the sullen abyss of the sofa cushions, immediately replaced by every ounce of need he just professed and then some, and then he’s shoving Cas’s sweats down and squeezing at his ass and Cas is gasping into his mouth and tugging frantically at Dean’s pants and by the time it’s skin on skin and Cas is grinding forward, cock slipping against Dean’s as Dean blindly fumbles above his head to retrieve the travel lube from the end table because precome isn’t quite cutting it, he’s not sure he could tell someone his own name if they asked.

Fortunately, Cas seems to remember it just fine.

“Dean,” he pants, mouthing at Dean’s jaw while Dean struggles to maneuver the bottle. “Dean, I need-”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.”

Cas is all hands, and hot, demanding kisses, rocking aggressively into him, but Dean somehow manages to get it open and coat his hand, and just as he’s reaching between them, ready to stroke them both to the finish, edging be damned-

“No,” Cas gasps out, grabbing his wrist, tugging it around him. “Touch me. Please.”

Of course, the _please_ was wholly unnecessary, Dean’s fingers finding his hole before the word is even quite out, and Cas groans as Dean takes a moment to press against him, massaging firmly as Cas shudders atop him.

“Dean,” he manages, a clear reprimand, but for a moment, Dean continues rubbing slick circles over him, just feeling him, and only when Cas huffs and opens his mouth again does he start pressing inside, middle finger slipping into Cas with ease.

Cas’s mouth snaps shut, eyes dark as he watches Dean, subtly rolling back against it, and Dean starts gently thrusting, simply watching him back.

It’s not like it’s a hardship; Cas has to be one of the most beautiful people ever to breathe Earth’s air, whether you have profound, terrifying feelings for him or not, and Dean thinks even someone utterly disinterested in sexy things of any kind would have to objectively agree that watching that body in motion, watching the way the light catches his eyes, watching the barely-there changes in expression, at his eyes, at his mouth, hair unrepentant and wild where it sows chaos on his head-

It’s a privilege to witness.

“What are you thinking?” Cas asks, eyes flicking between Dean’s, and the sofa cushions must press together out of spite, barring the hasty return of whatever brain matter has leaked between them, because Dean automatically blurts out-

“How lucky I am.”

Cas stills.

“Lucky?” he repeats, and Dean swallows, quickly pushing the tip of a second finger forward, hoping to distract him.

Cas twitches, pressing back slightly, but his eyes don’t leave Dean’s.

“Just – that, uh. We’ve made it this far. And I get to be here with you. That we – that we have the kind of friendship we do.”

Cas nods slowly, and Dean slides the second finger in, spreading them slightly.

“I agree,” he says after a moment, resuming his steady rhythm as Dean uncertainly begins pushing in and out. “I feel incredibly fortunate. I found you, and I’m with you. There are few things that could make it better.”

Which – that kind of gives Dean pause, because while Dean can acknowledge that yeah, this could be better – in a truly perfect world, he wouldn’t have to be terrified of ordering more coffee off the internet and also Cas would want to go home with him to his parents’ in about ten years time, not to quarantine together, but to present their shared offspring to its doting grandparents, however they can manage that – but he knows that’s not what Cas means, which leaves him to wonder what more he should be doing.

“Give me three, Dean,” Cas instructs, lids looking heavy, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Dean complies, trying to figure out how to ask and wondering if now is even an appropriate time, because call him crazy, but that whole Cas-moving-in-with-Gabe thing could technically still happen and short of hogtying Cas and surreptitiously dumping him in Baby’s trunk, Dean’s ready to do whatever it takes to avoid it.

Cas’s eyes shut briefly, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, spasming around Dean’s fingers before he opens them again.

“You’re perfect,” he says simply, rising up, and Dean stares back with wide eyes, just barely remembering to thrust forward to meet him on the downstroke.

Okay. Well, maybe Cas _was_ just referring to the whole quarantine situation.

Dean can live with that.

Anyway, the stubbornly clinging dregs of brain goop still plastered to the inside of his skull can’t offer much more than that, because Cas plants a hand on his chest and starts riding his fingers in earnest, head tipped back and shadows hungrily flitting along every play of muscle where bright white daylight squeezes through the balcony curtains to bathe him in its glow, and what the hell is the point of trying to think when _that’s_ what’s happening right in front of you?

Only when Cas starts letting his free hand palm at his own cock, still aggressively fucking down on Dean’s cramping fingers as the low, soft moans begin to slip out, does sense creep back in.

“Cas – Cas, do you want me to go get one of your toys so you can-”

Cas hisses, shuddering to a stop as his hand falls away.

“No,” he interrupts, breathless as he looks at Dean, gaze nonetheless sharp. “Too far. Just – use your dick.”

Dean’s briefly taken aback, since this isn’t one of the kink things they discussed, but only briefly, because the bedroom _is_ far away and you know what, Cas probably _would_ fuck himself if he could, so maybe it’s not even that weird, and then Cas’s words sink in and Dean is moving, withdrawing his fingers and fumbling more lube from the travel bottle before tugging Cas forward, frantically guiding the head of his cock to Cas’s slick, twitching rim, and then-

“Jesus _fuck,_ ” he nearly shouts, Cas sinking down without ceremony as Dean’s head slams backward, and before the lights have even cleared his vision, Cas is slapping a hand over his mouth, giving him a wild look.

“Quiet. If we don’t – fuck, if we don’t – learn to be – _quiet –_ we can’t – do this – a-any- _ah_!”

Dean shoves upward with all his might, and Cas curls forward with a broken noise, the hand on his cock moving to press against Dean’s chest, though his other palm stays firm over Dean’s lips, hot and damp as he muffles the helpless grunt that threatens to escape.

Dean shakes his head, tearing away from it.

“Yeah?” he gasps. “What about you, Cas? I can be quiet as a mouse, but it doesn’t do us any damn good if you’re still screaming over how fucking good it feels to get filled up by all your little toys.”

Cas shudders, giving him a heated look.

“Are – are you suggesting you’re one of my toys, Dean?”

Dean squeezes his hips, fucking up into him again, and when Cas cries out, Dean instinctively lifts a hand, pushing it against his mouth, though he doesn’t have the leverage to hold it there.

Cas freezes.

“What else do you call this, Cas? I don’t even get to come, do I? Just gotta lie here and let you use me until you’re done, right?”

Blue eyes blink down at him, wide and dark.

And then Cas reaches up, hand sliding over Dean’s, and just when Dean thinks he’s about to pull it off-

He presses down, holding it there.

Dean sucks in a breath just before Cas’s other palm slides back into place over his lips, smothering it as he shoves Dean’s head back down into the couch and leans in close, breathing harshly through his nose and never once breaking eye contact.

And then Cas starts _moving,_ lifting up and slamming down, fucking himself on Dean’s cock with abandon, and it’s so goddamn uncomfortable, Dean’s hand sweaty and damp from Cas’s lips pressed against it, his own mouth and chin faring little better, but Cas is staring into his eyes and riding his cock and Dean can’t even tell which muffled whimpers belong to whom, and when at last, Cas’s body goes tight, shoulders tensing, Dean’s ears ringing from the force with which Cas pushes down, or maybe from the sensation of him, wet and tight around Dean’s dick, the vibrations of his desperate moan shooting through Dean’s palm and into his wrist-

 _Fuck,_ he tries to say, but it comes out a muffled grunt, and just as he thinks it’s a lost cause, Cas clenching around his cock and trembling, low, needy sounds smothered against Dean’s hand, Cas abruptly slides off of him and yanks Dean’s hand away

“D-don’t come,” he gasps, that hand falling to his own cock, gracelessly stripping it, as Dean thrusts into nothing, the sudden loss of sensation borderline _painful._ “Not yet, Dean, not yet-”

Dean fucking _hates_ edging, hates it with the kind of burning passion that usually results from ill-advised sexual encounters with strangers, but then Cas is throwing his head back and crying out and coming all over Dean’s chest, Dean’s cock twitching feebly in his wake, and when he sees _that_ -

Well, it’s suddenly hard to feel bad about anything at all.

Dean, Cas has determined, is never going to get it.

Two years, Cas has desperately tried to hide his feelings, tried to moderate them, to express them in whatever way he imagined normal, platonically fond male friends would without letting any of the deeper feeling or desire slip through. Two years, he’s been terrified Dean would figure it out anyway, would be made uncomfortable and cut him off altogether.

Two years, Cas has wasted his fucking energy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he pants, petting Dean’s hair and subjecting to him all the clumsy, urgent kisses Cas feels compelled to give, body still shaking from his orgasm. “You are – tremendously wonderful – and I love you – so – so fucking much.”

Dean just clutches his waist and kisses back, evidently unquestioning, because apparently Cas can say and do _whatever the hell he wants_ and Dean _still_ won’t understand what he means by it.

So why hold back?

Why not embrace the madness they’ve descended into – and Cas thinks it’s definitely madness, his own come smearing back into his chest as he lies in a sweaty, tangled heap with his best friend, Dean still hard and desperate for release and destined to remain so because actually, he needs to be ready to fuck Cas at least twice tomorrow afternoon – and stop worrying?

And maybe that’s wrong; maybe Cas should be _worried_ about a friend who’s willing to participate in all of that, is willing to declare his love and his need and probably whatever else Cas sees fit to demand of him; maybe Cas should even be worried about _himself,_ that this could all go terribly, miserably wrong and spectacularly destroy him when all is said and done, but–

In many ways, all it ever seems to do is get better.

Dean is behaving like a devoted, attentive, utterly perfect partner, beyond any of Cas’s sadly-inadequate-but-long-nurtured dreams, and so long as _Dean_ is comfortable with it, so long as he possesses some mysterious inability to recognize it for what it normally would be, by any standard, accepted definition – who is Cas to deny himself? What purpose would it serve, for either of them?

Short of _actually-_ reciprocated feelings – isn’t this everything Cas has ever wanted?

And fine, that’s a narrow, shallow view of things, given that he’s increasingly afraid to open his laptop and see the news, he hasn’t been outside in weeks, their food supply is running so low a part of him is worried he and Dean will end up eating each other in the non-sexy way, and he’s not sure he’ll ever see his family again, _however_ -

If for some reason he _does_ remember to be bothered by the rest of it, by all the things outside of his control, all it takes is a careful look at Dean and perhaps a brief touch of his arm or shoulder or leg and suddenly Cas is too busy drowning in the pleasure of touch to drown in anything else.

Why exist in reality when he can exist in a fantasy come to life?

There _is_ no reason to, and that – that is why he decides to throw caution to the wind like it’s a live grenade he just discovered in his humble kitchen garden and the wind is actually a suitable body of water to suppress the worst of the ensuing blast, and simply bask in the afterglow of realizing when it comes to Dean, he no longer _has_ to worry.

He can do whatever he wants.

“Oh, God – yeah, me, too, Cas, so much-”

Cas grasps his jaw, frowning into the kiss.

“Say it,” he commands, and Dean nods, fingers sliding into Cas’s hair, stroking and tugging in just the way he likes.

“Yeah – love you, Cas,” he murmurs, licking at Cas’s lips, and Cas swallows a soft sound, his stomach flipping. It’s pathetic, the effect that has on him, but even if nothing else is real, even if Dean doesn’t really want any of it, _that_ is, and some part of Cas is still shocked to hear it.

“Thank you,” he replies, earnest, and Dean pulls away slightly, softening.

“Sorry,” he whispers, still carding his fingers through Cas’s hair. “Should have been telling you right this whole time.”

“You should have,” Cas agrees, before he can stop himself, because he thinks the early days would have been so much easier to bear, if Dean had, and more importantly, Dean’s not going to be here forever, holding him and kissing him and telling him how he loves him, and a selfish part of Cas thinks he deserves to have heard it as many times as earthly possible before it all ends.

Dean tips his chin, kissing him again.

“Gonna make it up to you,” he promises. “Gonna tell you every day from here on out, and then some.”

Cas shivers.

“Promise. Every day.” _For the rest of my life,_ he just barely doesn’t add, though he suspects Dean might actually do it, not even realizing what he was agreeing to or that Cas would expect him to _honor_ it.

“Every day,” Dean swears, barely breaking the kiss, and oh, Cas really, _really_ shouldn’t-

“Promise you won’t leave me,” he whispers, and at that, Dean finally goes still.

Cas waits, unsure what to expect.

And then his arms tighten around Cas, and this time, instead of a kiss, Dean tucks his face in Cas’s neck, breathing slowly.

“I promise,” he finally says, and Cas’s heart stumbles, Dean’s hair soft where it tickles his cheek, because Dean is _always_ soft, in all the important ways, and Cas dreads the day he has to let that go. “I’m going to stay with you for as long as you want me to.”

Cas swallows a sudden lump.

“You swear?”

“I do,” Dean counters, immediate. “’Cause – I need you, and you need me. Right?”

Which – this isn’t normal _,_ a part of Cas thinks _._ He isn’t sure anymore, _what_ this is, but he thinks it’s even less normal than he thought.

A bigger part of him doesn’t care, though, and he’ll be best friends with Dean for the rest of his life, if this is really what it entails; and just to stop himself from crying over the potential for endings or, even more overwhelming, the potential for _forevers_ -

He squirms free of Dean’s hold, catches his face in his hands, and kisses him again.

“Is it alright if I mix your hardbacks with mine?”

Dean just sort of looks at Cas for a moment, and Cas looks back, brow raised, t-shirt collar drooping to tantalizing effect where he kneels on the floor by the bookcases, box open in front of him.

To be honest, Dean’s starting to wonder if he’s sick, if he got sick at the start, if this is actually some kind of near-death Covid hallucination and soon, he’ll wake up in a hospital bed, voiceless and dazed and all alone.

“Sure. We’re, uh. Headed the same place, so it shouldn’t matter.”

Cas smiles briefly, then starts tucking them into the box, and Dean returns to sorting through school papers, deep in thought.

The thing is, he’s not gonna leave Cas – doesn’t think he could if he tried, thinks letting Cas go is going to have to happen totally on Cas’s part, because Dean just _can’t –_ but he kind of wishes he had the nerve to ask where Cas fell on that.

And it’s stupid, because Cas said he needed him, is the one who asked for all those promises in the first place, but Dean – well, Dean’s a sure thing, and even if it’s just on a sub-conscious level, he doesn’t kid himself that it’s not obvious.

But Dean remembers how it felt, every rough patch his parents went through, remembers how long that drive seemed when they took Sam to California, when Dean looked around and wondered if his little brother was ever going to come _back,_ and maybe it’s a weakness, the way he gets attached, the way he _needs,_ but the idea of losing Cas to _anything_ , whether it’s another lover or Gabe’s apartment or a job three states away, is terrifying.

Cas wouldn’t ask Dean to promise all that if he weren’t afraid it could happen, too, would he?

But – how can Dean ask? For Cas to say those things – Cas must be feeling anxious as fuck, today, and even two orgasms before the day was even half over apparently didn’t help. Cas was – raw, emotional, like it was all just bleeding out of him, and Dean’s struggling to figure out how to broach the question of ‘hey, are you okay today?’, never mind ‘could you maybe promise you’ll stay with me, too?’

(‘Could you maybe reassure me you want to be with me forever?’)

“What?” Cas asks, cocking his head and giving him a quizzical smile. “I just showered again, so I can’t have something on my face.”

Dean swallows down the hope stubbornly trying to lodge itself in his throat.

“Nah. Just – thinking.”

Cas’s smile fades.

“About?”

“The, uh. The stuff. That we talked about, earlier.”

Cas blinks, and Dean clears his throat.

“You, uh. You were . . .” He hesitates, face heating. Maybe this is too much pressure. “You were serious, right?”

Cas studies him.

“Yes.” His brow creases slightly. “Were you?”

“Of course,” Dean says quickly, looking down. “I just – you’ll stay, too, right? I mean – obviously, while the world’s still crazy, I know we kinda planned on sticking this thing out together, but – it, uh. I was just thinking – it’d be nice to think you’d be there, for sure. Down the road. You know?”

There’s a long, horrifying sort of silence, and just as Dean’s body appears to be trying to maneuver its way out of his skin, said skin melting on top of the whole gross, bloody mess of organs and bone-

Cas is suddenly there, dropping to his knees in front of him and looking at Dean with soft, serious eyes.

“Sorry. I thought it was clear.” He reaches out, touching Dean’s cheek. “You’ll have to tell me, when you want me to leave. Otherwise . . .”

He tips his chin up, and with breathtaking gentleness, presses his lips to Dean’s.

“This is where I belong, Dean,” he whispers, and Dean just sits there, stunned and frozen and utterly stupid, until Cas lightly brushes his hair back and then rises, returning to his book box as if he’d never left.

Dean mechanically resumes sorting through his papers, probably putting useless printouts in the keep pile and trashing important references, but he can’t help it.

 _This is where I belong, Dean,_ Cas tells him, quiet against his lips, touch containing all the love and care Dean thinks he could possibly need, over and over again inside his head, and Dean-

For a long while, Dean can’t seem to see anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> *** SPOILERS ***
> 
> Dubious consent in Chapter 9: After sharing a bed, stripped down to their underwear due to the heat, Cas wakes to find Dean's erection pressing against him. When Dean fails to promptly wake up and Cas has begun reacting to these attentions, Cas decides a confrontation will be awkward and that he should try to avoid waking Dean. Dean unconsciously tries to keep him close, and in Cas's halfhearted struggle to get away, he ends up entangled further, increasingly distracted by his own enjoyment of the situation, and boxer-briefs slide down in such a way that leaves them both exposed. This results in brief intercrural sex before Cas realizes he's close to orgasm, at which point he shoves Dean off and flees the room.
> 
> This scene is intended to be ridiculous in some ways, as all the incidents are, and you can be assured that if Dean were awake and knew Cas was interested, he would be very happy with the proceedings, and likewise, Cas would be very happy to see them to their conclusion. Still, Cas should have woken Dean up or forcibly left sooner, and also should not have had to handle those attentions in the first place, so this may be read as dubiously consensual from both directions.


End file.
